Danse Macabre
by Ryrahd
Summary: ExT and SxS. While on a trip to Venice, Eriol espies a mysterious figure he soon becomes obsessed with. AU, slight OOC and... giggles tights! Sorry for the lateness. The authoress is a blubbering idiot '
1. Overture

A/N: Another story, another day... Oh! The plot bunnies are killing me! Again, I'm not certain whether to keep this story going (though I would prefer to) and this is where you peoples tell me what ya think. This story takes place sometime in the late 1800s in Venice. Eriol and Syaoran are English Viscount and Baron. Tomoyo and her mother are prominent ladies in Venice, but I'll get into that later. 

Disclaimer: All characters in this story belong to the wonderful people at CLAMP; I own nothing and lay claim on nothing. Also, this is the only time I'm saying this (for this story, anyway) and therefore, if you wanna sue me, tough luck. 

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Danse Macabre

Chapter 1: Overture 

Overture: _Music An instrumental composition intended especially as an introduction to an extended work, such as an opera or oratorio._

"We have arrived, Sirs."

Hiiragizawa Eriol exhaled a breath he didn't quite realize he was holding and looked up at the drone-like cabin boy, the source of the disruption. He had previously been staring out of the dust covered window at his side. He was aboard the _Peridot_, a small but luxurious ferry especially for the elite. Outside, the waters of Canal Grande were giving away to the bustling port, as if in welcome to the city of mystique and ancient traditions. 

Eriol thanked the servant with a bland wave of his hand and took a sip of his slowly cooling tea, glancing at his companion while doing so. His best friend and relative, Li Syaoran, was sitting across a small round table from him, reading a tattered-looking tome. The youth was completely immersed in the book. Eriol sighed and shook his head wryly. Syaoran had a tendency to be a little – oh, did he dare think it?– thick-headed. This oftentimes made Eriol, who was renowned for his admirable-like patience, scream in frustration. 

"Did you hear?" He asked his companion. 

Syaoran looked up, blinking questioningly. It was all Eriol could do to keep himself from tearing at his shock of raven hair. He sighed, vexed, and pointed to the growing outline of buildings outside the window. "We've arrived."

Syaoran answered with a barely audible "oh" and returned to the book in front of him. 

"Shouldn't you be a bit more excited?" Asked Eriol, taking another sip of his tea, crossing his arms afterwards. 

"Why should I be?" returned his chestnut-haired friend, not looking up from the text. 

"Why not? Here we are, in one of the most romantic, intriguing and majestic cities in the entire world, and all you do is point your nose in that book. Look around you, smell the air. Doesn't it feel like you have been transported back in time?" 

With a sigh, Syaoran replied, "The only thing I see is old houses and beggars on the streets. The only thing I smell is dusty air. There is nothing special here that I wouldn't have an opportunity to witness back home." 

Eriol exhaled sourly and pouted. He still considered himself to be an age when pouting wasn't considered childish. "Syaoran, Syaoran. Don't you have an imagination? Think of the possibilities? Think of all the 'what if's."

"Let me tell you what will happen, Eriol, during this little excursion of ours," Syaoran began with a trace of sarcasm, finally settling his amber eyes on his friend. "We will arrive at port, where somebody will try to steal your wallet and then you'll ruin your expensive suit in the mud. When you get to your aunt's place, you'll be too tired to do anything else. And afterwards, you'll hide yourself in the library, writing cheques and greeting cards. You'll end up spending the entire vacation cooped up in the manor, and then _I _would be the one commenting on _your_ lack of enthusiasm. In truth, this vacation is just a waste of time. Nothing good will come out of it." 

Eriol looked at his friend for a long moment, even though one of his instincts screaming for him to contradict the taciturn boy. He knew he could, too. No one had managed to beat him at a debate; he considered that one of his top achievements in life. Instead, he bit his tongue and stole another sip of tea, which was bordering on cold by now. Syaoran had always managed to turn his words around, to add an extra meaning to a seemingly simple thing. The two of them were always at odds. _'That's what keeps us together'_, Eriol thought; he hated people who were too agreeable, it made no fun in life. 

Syaoran and himself had been friends since before he could remember. They had never showed it, but both cared about each other very much. While Eriol was the more fun-loving of the two, Syaoran was more subdued. His quietness had served as a weak front to hide his deep intensity. In fact, and Eriol would swear all his family fortune over it, Syaoran was one of the most passionate people he had even met. The bespectacled youth was glad that it was Syaoran who was there with him at the moment, despite his aloofness.

Eriol feared that the only reason Syaoran agreed to come was to pursue his art. His chestnut-haired friend was an amazing artist, producing vividly intriguing and visually pleasing scenes. Not many people knew about this talent, however, as Syaoran tended to shy away from the rest of society (which often made Eriol tisk in disappointment). Syaoran's art was his secret passion, an almost sinful pleasure he allowed himself to practice to get away from the aches and pains of modern life. On a different side, Eriol had a hunch that Syaoran had just wanted to look after him, like an overprotective brother. 

In all too soon, the little ship docked at the port and Eriol was forced to abandon his cold tea, which he didn't mind too much, and head to the exit. Outside, the sun shone bright, glistening off of the muddy waters. He could smell the difference in the air; the scent of work, spice and age. The buildings were huddled close together, towering over him, threadlike alleys leading onto the maze of the inner city. The natives going to and fro wore simple clothing in earthy tones, talking animatedly in a melodious language. Eriol truly did feel as if he was out of time, or, more accurately, back in time to when tradition reigned. 

It was both welcoming and alienating. _Foreign_, he thought. As it turned out, there was not a single attempt at his wallet and the ground was surprisingly clean. He later nudged Syaoran in the side and smirked winningly. 

"Oi, Eriol!" The youth hear his name shouted through the hubbub and woke up from the momentary lapse. There was a swarm of people pushing and rushing all around him, hefting heavy suitcases and carry-ons onto hansoms and to porter boys.

He glanced up in time for another call, and spotted the face of his aunt, waving heavily jewelled arms to get his attention. He smiled almost ruefully, lifting up his suitcases and poking Syaoran in the ribs, who, too, was immersed in observing his surroundings. Eriol's Aunt Nakuru Akizuki had always been an eccentric sort. Her closet seemed to be abundant with flashy dresses and large, feathery hats. She was twenty-five, six years older than him, but sometimes acted like his mother. She stood out of the entire crowd in her crimson chemise and flaming hair, although a person would have to be deaf not to notice her. 

"Oh, Eriol, I've missed you so much!" He winced slightly when Nakuru threw her arms around him and pulled him for a tight, bone breaking hug. She had a very strong feminine cologne on, Eriol could almost see the stars dance in his head from the smell. 

"Is that Syao-chan?" Nakuru exclaimed, freeing Eriol before his rib cage could crack, and moving off to her new target. 

Syaoran squirmed and replied with a curt, "Hello, Akizuki-san," before being pummelled with the same crushing hug. 

"Why, you've both changed so much since last I've seen you!" She said breathlessly and starry-eyed. "You must be the most sought after skirt-chasers in all of England!" 

Both Sirs chose to ignore her comment, despite the faint dusting of rose along their fair cheekbones, and set out to look for a porter. 

Technicalities over with, the duo was led to a waiting gondola, Nakuru bravely in the lead, chatting amiably. 

Eriol shook his head with an almost imperceptible chuckle and followed along. He had received a letter not two weeks ago from Nakuru. He thought the sudden message to be odd, given that the last time he heard from his aunt was all of five years prior, but it intrigued him nonetheless. The letter had asked him to come to Venice, where Nakuru was currently residing. She wrote that the infamous Venetian Carnival was soon to happen and that she thought it was a good opportunity for Eriol to "loosen up." Of course, Eriol had clearly seen her attempt to "bring him out to the world," it was her main vigilance since he was a small child. 

At first, Eriol was apprehensive about the proposition; he thought it was too much of a bother, too personal and carefree for him. But then, Nakuru had said that the ancient city would interest him (in more ways than one) and he had yet to disagree with her. So, he had agreed, only if Syaoran would tag along, even if Eriol had to bludgeon him to death. If truth be told, Eriol thought this to be a good opportunity to relax, and Lord knows, he hadn't been relaxed for a very long time. There was a sense of loss, of incompleteness within him, and he had an undeniable urge to find the missing piece, to the puzzle and to himself. Maybe here, in Venice, he would find what he chased after...

Inside the gondola, when everybody were seated, Eriol was amazed at the sensation. The gentle _lull _of the boat against the rolling waters. The sheer sensation was like gliding on air. 

"Have you found the one yet?" 

Nakuru's voice broke his reverie and he looked up from the water to glance at her, brow arched. Syaoran snickered from off to the side, murmuring something resembling to "him?! Never!" and peering over the sketchbook spread on his lap. 

"You said something?" 

With a frustrated sigh Nakuru repeated her question, "Have you found the _one_, yet?"

Eriol didn't need to ask what this "one" was; he already knew. It has been going around as a joke between his relatives. _'Almost twenty and without a wife?!' _they would say and snicker behind discreet hands. It was true, there was no body in his life after in the incident with the Mizuki Baroness. The episode had left him completely crushed and he had not wanted a repeated occurrence. Eriol did not mind much, he never really cared about what others thought of him. Someone had once told him to follow his heart, to not let obligation tie him down. He was adamant about sticking to that dogma. 

"Why do you bother asking him when you know he's a hopeless fool?" Syaoran piped in, all too glad to help out his friend, or further intensify his misery. 

"Yes, but still... There could have been a small possibility..." Nakuru twiddled with her lace gloves, nibbling on her scarlet painted lip. "I've met some nice beauties here. Fashionable, eligible, and rich. Suppose I introduce him to some of them?" 

"What are the probabilities that he won't bite their heads off?" Returned Syaoran. Eriol had a tendency to be a little... rough around the edges, chiefly allotted to Kaho Mizuki. 

"True. It's still worth a try, though."

Eriol fidgeted nervously in his seat, tugging surreptitiously at his collar. It was as if he wasn't even there. The two were discussing his love live, and he was suddenly left out of the conversation!

"Since when have the two of you become partners in crime?" He asked, a bit miffed. 

Nakuru smirked and reached a hand across the space that separated their seats, patting him on the knee. "Everything for the good of my precious Eriol-chan!" 

"Yes, everything for our little Eriol-chan!" Syaoran parroted, looking decidedly pleased. 

"And what about you, _Syao-chan_? The last time I checked, you were as single as a wolf. Maybe we should introduce _you_ to some nice, Italian ladies, hm?" Eriol shot back with a smirk, gleefully watching Syaoran gulp.

"He has a good point, Syaoran," Nakuru broke in-between the Sir's glaring contest with a girlish giggle. "I should introduce you both to Ladies Naoko and Chiharu when we go to the masquerade ball tonight. Very nice girls, will make great wives one day. Ooooh! I know the perfect outfits for you two! You'll look so dashingly handsome!" 

While Nakuru continued talking about that night's events, both boys looked positively sick. Eriol could just imagine himself being dragged here and there in a ridiculous outfit, being sold out to the Venetian Woman's Society. At least he was not going to suffer alone. As the saying went, the more the merrier. For the meanwhile, he slumped slightly in his seat and let the gondola whisk him away. 

(tbc...?)

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It feels so strange to be writing a story that has to do with music so soon after _Rhythm Divine_. At least this story focuses more on the idea of Carnival rather then the cantos and crescendos. Plus, I'm kinda afraid to write that angst fic I had planning, and it isn't even that long! Maybe.... 


	2. Adagio

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. I love Camille Saint-Saëns! I also love the violin. I just wish I could play it... Oh, poo. The title of this story is dedicated to Saint-Saëns, and his composition of the same name. Oh, and I'm sorry if you think I'm uploading this way too slowly. I have like a zillion and one paintings, commission and school wise, to do and they're completely eating my time. Gomen nasai!

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Chapter 2: Adagio

Adagio _Music A slow passage, movement, or work, especially one using adagio as the direction_

After the rather... unpleasant gondola ride, Eriol and the rest were delivered to one of the more lavish parts of the city. The houses were arranged in a circular fashion, large single and two-storey buildings rising from elaborately crafted gates. A little way off, kids were playing a jumping game, with chalk used as guidelines. If Eriol had to describe the scene with one word, he would have called it "antique". The quiet tranquillity of the place was a refreshing start for him, since he grew up in the heart of London, the metropolis of their era. 

Nakuru led them to a vanilla-coloured bungalow with black iron gates. There was a red brick walkway twisting along the fashionably groomed garden that led to the door. 

"Nice place you chose to settle in," Eriol commented, glancing at the spilling olive tree near the steps. 

"I just couldn't resist the pull of this place," Nakuru replied. "The local gentlemen are also a nice bonus." 

"Aa. That explains everything," Syaoran murmured to himself, though the sentiment did not go unnoticed by Eriol. The young lord grinned lopsidedly and chose a patch of very colourful chrysanthemums to look at. 

It was true. Practically the only thing on this aunt's mind was the gentlemen and plots of luring them into marriage. She had sent him many letters describing this young man or another, asking what _he_ thought of them. It was rather comical. 

Before the trio could reach the front steps, a portly butler was opening the wide doors, greeting them coolly. 

"Why, thank you Suppi!" Nakuru smiled amiably, if not slightly deviously, at the servant and moved deeper into the mansion. 

Spinel, as he was actually called, cringed visibly but nodded his welcome nonetheless. 

Eriol smirked almost furtively and greeted the butler in a friendly manner. "She still has you hooked around her little finger, doesn't she?" 

The older man became visibly dourer. With a tired sigh, he nodded and forced on a smile. "I'm afraid so, sir."

"Amazing!" Exclaimed Syaoran in mock astonishment. "How do you cope?" 

Before the elderly butler could get out a word edgewise, a shout from down the hall interrupted him: "He doesn't have a choice!"

Eriol laughed lightly while Syaoran snorted, following Nakuru's lead. When they were alone, he patted Spinel on the back and scrunched his face in mock condolence. "I feel for you. Truly, your pain is not unknown to me."

The young lord disappeared after Nakuru before Spinel could reply, only hearing a harried huff from the servant. Eriol allowed himself a small smile, not really caring who might see it. He still remembered the times when he was a boy. Nakuru would visit him during the summer and winter. She would drag him and Spinel everywhere, to the lake where they used to go fishing and up a large sycamore tree on his estate. And then Syaoran would join in, too. Poor Spinel, who had preferred to stay put and quietly read a book, was forced to build make-belief forts with them and play the "surrendering soldier". The battered, pitiful, little Spinel would then be bombarded with various treats; he had a small – err – problem with sweets. At one time, Nakuru had stuffed a souffle down his throat (quite literally, she was a rowdy sort), despite his vain protests. To this day, Spinel could never look at a candy without wincing and shuffling hurriedly away on his little feet. 

Eriol was surprised that Spinel did not run away as soon as the opportunity was granted. Though Nakuru had never said anything to him, the lord suspected that both mistress and servant had become friends over the years. The curt and polite remarks had turned teasing, light-hearted in nature. She had become dependent on the portly servant, if not for fun, then for friendship. And albeit Spinel had huffed and puffed like a balloon, Eriol had the notion that he, too, could not part with his mistress. Eriol, the benevolent soul that he was, couldn't help but feel glad. 

Right after he had left Spinel, Eriol was steered toward one room and another, where Nakuru was pointing out this tidbit and that, marvelling over the mantle piece and the grand piano (though she could not play one to save her life, so why the need for one?). Eriol followed his aunt obediently, nodding once in a while, just to seem as if he was paying attention. _'Where has Syaoran disappeared? Hide in the face of danger, eh?_' he thought wryly and continued following Nakuru, though a bit destitute. 

Later, another servant showed him to his suite, bowing respectfully before leaving. Eriol was used to this kind of treatment, after all, he himself grew up surrounded by wealth. He was the sole heir to the Hiiragizawa fortune, one of the most prominent families in all of Europe. When his great-uncle, Clow Reed, had passed away, he had entitled everything to Eriol, much to everyone's surprise. It astounded many people at the time to see a fourteen-year-old boy suddenly take control of such a large amount of money. Others thought money would corrupt the still growing lord, as it had done to thousands of dignitaries in the past. Eriol had sworn, almost from the first moment he heard of his uncle's death, that he would be responsible, that he would be a great leader. 

And so, now at nineteen, Lord Eriol, or Viscount Hiiragizawa, was one of the richest people in all of the modern world. This, of course, gave way to some challenges. There had been angry family members who thought that he was too good for all that money. Others thought that he was simply too young. The first couple of years after he inherited the fortune, there had been huge lawsuits and meetings between family members. Eriol had thought those petty fights would break his family apart. And they did. To this day, he still did not feel completely comfortable with some members of his clan. 

Also, being so young and so rich had posed some problems on his personal life. He was no longer a carefree boy, sneaking into the conservatory at Hellish hours of the night so he could read some of his uncle's more private novels. Eriol could no longer go out and play with other gents his age; there was tutoring and viscount training to think of. There was simply no more time to have fun; business affairs had taken care of that. The only joy in his life, it seemed, was those times when Syaoran would come over. He still remembered how the two of them would escape under the butler's nose, donned a cheap guise, to go to the public tavern on Main Street. 

There were other problems, of course. Meaning that he was like a walking, talking moneybag, with good looks to boot. Back home, he hadn't been able to turn this way or that without having a lady throwing herself at him. That's why he tended to stay within the richly decorated walls of his manor, and as far away from social gatherings as possible. To tell the truth, he completely understood why Nakuru was so insistent on pushing him toward marriage. He had to admit it was rather sad seeing a young man of his status enclosed in the sanctuary of his mansion just because he was afraid of the prowling vultures in skirts. 

No. He did not want to marry any woman that threw herself at him, like a degrading, wanton toy. He wanted someone who was able to challenge him, to not only captivate him physically, but also intellectually. He didn't want a wife he could buy, he wanted someone who'd he love and who loved him in return. Eriol, who grew up in the supervision of his great-uncle, had been enforced with the idea that love was the single ruling emotion in the world. And thus, he considered it the sole purpose of his life. 

In no time, the sky outside began to darken; the vast expanse of it coloured with splashes of red and orange. Eriol, comfortably sprawled in a large, red, Victorian chair with a checkbook on his lap, began to hear distant calls and music coming from outside. Looking out a window, Eriol could see a million tiny lights flicker into existence. He had a good view of the Grande Canal and the waters seemed to come alive with the music and the lights. 

"The night heralds the Carnival," a voice from behind him broke his reverie. 

Not turning to face the intruder, Eriol replied, "The night heralds many things, Syaoran."

"Well, right now, it's Nakuru that's calling for you."

Eriol winced, and glanced at his friend. "What does she want?"

"We have a masquerade ball to go to later tonight, have you forgotten about that? Your aunt just wants to dress you up in pretty clothes and put you on display, like a cake."

The other youth got wearily to his feet and shuffled over to Syaoran, following him. "Since when has it become just about me? You are in this as much as I. Like it or not, she's gonna drag you along as well."

Syaoran huffed annoyingly and swatted at the air like he would at a fly. "Don't spoil my way of thinking, Eriol. There's still time to pretend otherwise." 

Syaoran had led him to one of the grand suites in the mansion. Judging by the looks of it, it was a guest bedroom. The bed was pushed along the wall, as was the little writing table and the large dresser. In the middle of the room two dressing screens were set up, boxes piling about. A handmaiden was waiting for them, cloth draped over her arms. 

"The mistress has requested for you to try these on," she said to the young gentlemen, handing the clothes to them. 

Without an explanation, the two were rushed behind the screens, the door closing afterwards. 

"Do you suppose we can trust Nakuru with the costumes?" Syaoran's voice reached the other's ears.

Eriol shrugged, then realized that his friend could not see him. "It's possible. She is, after all, the queen of clothes." 

Eriol looked at the pile of clothes before him with a slight frown. There seemed to be an awful lot of white material. With tentative hands, he unfolded the cloth, holding it before him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought it was a smock._ 'How would one go about getting this on?'_ he thought warily. With another shrug, he peeled away his clothes and donned on the costume. It was only after he had pulled the billowy pants on and was buttoning the breezy shirt that he actually bothered to look at himself in the mirror. He blanched at the reflection. 

The youth was dressed as Pierrot [1]. The cream-white shirt reached down to mid-thigh, pants from the same material showing underneath. The shirt's puffy, embroidered sleeves completely swallowed his arms and hands. A small dark blue hat sat atop his head. The worst parts of the outfit, he thought, were the overly large white buttons running down his chest. Eriol was appalled; he looked absolutely ridiculous. 

"Hurry up, Eriol-chan, I can't wait forever, you know," Nakuru's voice broke his contemplation. "C'mon, I want to see how you look like."

"Too bad you'll have to wait for a long while," Eriol replied with a huff, "because I'm not coming out."

Nakuru giggled, and the boy could just imagine her stifling her mirth. "Oh, Eriol, don't be so childish. I'm sure you look good, after all, I personally chose that outfit for you. Now, just come on; show me before I'll take it upon myself to see." 

She had a good point, he thought and imagined what _that_ would be like. Nakuru had a tendency to become a three-headed beast when she couldn't get something she wanted. Extremely annoyed and flushed with embarrassment, Eriol moved from behind the screen, his eyes glued to the floor. 

"Oh, stop brooding, Eriol, you don't look bad at all," his aunt said after a moment's pause, he could hear muffled laugher in her voice. 

"Not bad?! It looks as if a lady's petticoat has been placed around my head. I have pompons on my shirt, for goodness' sake!" He exclaimed, waving his arms frantically. "And look, I'm wearing pantaloons!" 

"You're worried about _your_ pants?" Asked Syaoran, stepping from behind the screen. "Well, then look at me."

Eriol looked up and visibly cringed. Syaoran was wearing a sap green shirt, the collar of which was open, leaving a trail of pale skin. A leather belt was slung loosely around his hips, which led directly to his legs. Eriol nearly choked on a laugh when he saw the tights. A paler green in contrast to the shirt, the tights fit snugly to the boy's legs (thus called "tights"), which seemed go on for miles. Syaoran fidgeted nervously, tapping his stoking clad foot against the floorboards. A mortified flush spread along his high cheekbones, while a pout stretched on his lips. 

Eriol whistled playfully, forgetting his own dilemma. "Wow, Syao-chan, I didn't know you looked this great in women's clothing." 

"Oh, shut up, Pantaloon-Boy," Syaoran ground out irritably from behind clenched teeth, the red deepening on his cheeks.

"He's right, you know," Nakuru piled in, giving the distressed boy an appreciative glance of her own. "You look fantastic. Have you considered marriage lately? Because, you know, I'm always available."

Ignoring the less-than-innocent purr, Syaoran glanced at her own costume. _'Marie Antoinette, huh?'_ he thought, annoyed. Nakuru seemed to be the only one out the trio whose costume was somewhat tame, if you excluded the pompadour on her head. "What am I supposed to be anyway?" He asked, regaining some reign on his temper. 

"You're a bard," she said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, pointing to the lyre in one of the boxes on the floor. 

"How come he has an interesting costume, while I'm stuck as the clown?" Eriol asked, vexed. 

"Oh, shush, you sour puss," said Nakuru dismissevely, primping up her skirts. "I frankly think you look rather handsome in those. Now, if you gentlemen will halt your whining for another time, I believe we have a party to get to." 

She handed them glittering half-masks, as was the custom during the Carnival, and led them outside. It was much darker now, thousands of flickers of lights gracing both the heavens and the earth. There was laughter all around. The music was reverberating off the buildings and the water, amplifying, pulsing. Eriol was amazed. As he listened to the music, he could feel the rhythm seize him, pull him in, tantalizing him. 

The ride to the party was an incomprehensible blur to him, only the sensation of floating, of music and of light reaching his consciousness. Before he realized it, he was moving off the gondola – since when has it arrived? – and to a maw of moving, dancing and laughing people. Everything seemed so unreal, so illusionary that Eriol had to shut his eyes and open them again in order to make sure it was, indeed, real. 

Syaoran immediately took a position in a shadowed corner of the room, crossing his arms over his chest. Nakuru had fluttered to and fro, dragging Eriol to introduce him to this girl and that, each dressed in elaborate costumes. The young lord kept the conversations to a minimum, nodding politely and excusing himself at the earliest opportunity. 

Hours, it seemed, later he came up to Syaoran, joining him on the sidelines. The initial wonder had dissipated, leaving Eriol empty and aching for more. These people seemed superficial, dolls dancing at a make-belief party. 

"It's like I'm paraded about, being sold to all the available bachelorettes. It's sickening almost," Eriol whispered, though the sentiment was did not go unnoticed by Syaoran. 

"Wasn't it you who told me to try to enjoy myself while here?" His friend asked coolly, his eyes trained on the crowd. 

"Once upon a time, but yes. Why?" Eriol answered, perplexed. 

"Then you should probably try to enjoy yourself as well," was Syaoran's reply. 

Eriol felt like a hypocrite. Here he was, proclaiming how bored he was, how he wanted the evening to end, when not too long ago it was he who could not wait for this moment to come. He blamed that partially at the unfamiliarity of this city. Everything was just so new, so raw and strange, he felt dazed and lost. He was in a different country, surrounded by different people with different language and thoughts. How could he _not _feel this way? As a stranger to a foreign land, he was overwhelmed. 

"The trip here was exhausting, ne Syaoran? How about we—" 

Eriol froze mid-thought, the words dying on his lips. Across the room, hidden by the mass of brightly dressed people and partly shielded by Queen Liz I, was the most heavenly creature he had ever beheld. And that being had long, wavy blue hair and a pale cerulean dress. She was Malvina, and though she was just one person amongst a sea of lavishly costumed people, he could not look away nor stop his heart from hammering at his side. She was breathtaking. 

(tbc)

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[1] Pierrot and Malvina are characters in the Russian version of Pinocchio, called _Buratino_. Both were dolls in a puppet theatre. Pierrot was ridiculously in love with Malvina, the girl with blue hair, but was afraid of telling her. And so, he kept on following her, protecting her from the sidelines. Malvina was, of course, his best friend and I personally think even more. I thought that suited Tomoyo and Eriol's characters quite well ^____^

Just out of curiosity, does anyone of you (the readers) who've read my other fics, think that I have a Mary-Sue or am one? Hmm... very peculiar...


	3. Sonata

A/N: Ha! I'm back! Hmm, to answer your question, malicious_angel, ff.net doesn't post new chapters immediately after you upload them; you have to wait a little bit before it shows up in the actual chapter menu. I've been annoyed by that as well *grumble* *grumble*. Enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Sonata

Sonata: **_n._** A composition for one or more solo instruments, one of which is usually a keyboard instrument, usually consisting of three or four independent movements varying in key, mood, and tempo. 

She had been terribly bored, going practically insane, actually. Never in her life had she been in a duller situation. Rich snobs gathered all around her, like cockroaches on stale toast. They talked in false nuances, flashing their jewelled fingers and wrists. She almost felt sick to her stomach, degraded. It made her feel almost pathetic, watching other people like a hungry mutt would a steak. 

She leaned against a wall, crossing her arms and scanning the crowd almost enviously. So much vanity going on in this room, she thought. So much pretence and lies. The air reeked of it. Everywhere you looked, there was another bright, expensive costume, another bejewelled mask. But that's all there was. None of these people were real. There were only the music and laughter, which created a mutual bond between every person in the room. Except her. 

She stopped her observation suddenly, her ranting in "mute" mode. On the other side of the room, braced against the wall and in a similar pose as her, was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. He had chocolate-coloured hair that stuck out and fell almost gracefully into his eyes. A silk embroidered mask covered his face, though she could make out a distinct flash of raw amber. Her eyes widened and a furious blush spread along her cheeks when she saw the rest of his outfit. A loose, breezy shirt left a trail of pale skin exposed, daringly, appealingly. Two shapely, long legs stretched to cross at the ankles. 

The girl gulped almost self consciously, feeling herself begin to flush at the sight of the lithe boy. A part of her brain told her to approach him, to ask his name at least. Another, and less daring, part of her mind told her to stay put, to keep away from something that so obviously could not be hers. She stole another glance at the handsome youth. She felt her stomach plummet to the floor when she caught sight of a pretty redhead dressed as Marie Antoinette approach the boy. With another sigh, she turned away. 

* * * 

Eriol stood transfixed on his spot, his mind a whir with thoughts, though only one predominated: her. With an expanse of a couple of minutes – seconds even – he had been enthralled, captured. A mere glimpse of the girl in blue made his breath catch in his throat and his young, love-smitten heart flop to one side. 

"Close your mouth, Eriol, before you net any flies," Nakuru's voice managed to break through his spell and he suddenly remembered where and who he was. 

Catching himself at an awkward moment, he glanced at a smirking Syaoran, seeing the jeering reflect in the other's eyes. "What's wrong, Eriol? Something special caught your eye?" The amber-eyed lord said teasingly, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 

With a slight huff, Eriol turned to Nakuru. "Aunt, would you tell me about a certain someone?" His aunt was known to be a local gossipmonger, a queen amongst her little rumour-loving ants. Anything and everything that could be spread by word of mouth, was most likely heard and dissected by her. She was the perfect source of information for a newbie like him. 

"Oh? And who might that be?" Nakuru asked, spreading her fan in a very ladylike manner. 

"A lady," replied the viscount, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

"Ooo, did you dear that Nakuru?" Syaoran interjected, his mouth in an almost comical 'o' shape. "A lady! Our precious Eriol-chan is beginning to grow up! And here I thought he'd devote himself to celibacy!" 

"Oh shush, Syaoran!" The female in the trio exclaimed, masking a giggle behind her fan. "He has a right to enjoy a pretty lady's company. Now, show me, show me! Whom did you have your eyes on?" 

Eriol ignored the gleeful note in her voice, and, sparing a glare in his friend's direction, pointed to the girl with blue hair. 

Standing on her tippy toes, Nakuru scanned the crowd. "You mean the one dressed as Belle? That's Lady Nadeshico. Nice girl, though–" 

"No, no," Eriol interrupted her. "The one in blue."

"The mermaid? That's Countess Wilfred. Good choice. Her father–" 

"That's not her either," the bespectacled lord shook his head, aggravated. "I meant the one with blue hair; Malvina." 

Nakuru paused and searched the room again, removing her mask in order to see better. Eriol tapped his slippered shoe impatiently on the floor, also looking for the girl; he had lost sight of the divine creature with the disruption. 

After a while, Nakuru turned to him with a grave half-smile. "That's Tomoyo Daidouji, daughter of late Lord Daidouji." The eccentric aunt had said that in a dreary, wary, almost, tone. Eriol wondered why, creasing his brows in concentration. "See that tall lady dressed as Queen Elizabeth? That's her mother, Lady Sonomi." 

"And what's her story?" Inquired Syaoran, his voice losing all traces of laughter. 

"There's not much known about the Daidouji family," Nakuru began. "The Lord was a famous local doctor. Although I've never met the man, I've heard some good things about him. He would accept patients at any time of the day, rain or snow. He's built himself quite a fortune, I hear. Poor man, he died some seven or eight years ago; left everything to his lady. Rumour goes, his wife had never truly loved him, used him for his money, that wench. They say that somewhere on her estate, if you look deep and hard enough, there you'll find his will, the real one."

"What does this have to do with the girl?" Eriol asked, his mouth set in a firm line.

"See, Lady Sonomi had always wanted a child of her own, like a kid wants a toy to play with. The problem is, Dr. Daidouji was impotent. Perhaps that's why she hated him. It was devastating for her, I think. To want something so much and being able to have it because of physical disability must have been crushing. The good doctor, ridiculously in love with his wife, brought a child home one day. No one knows where he got it, just that he showed up at a social gathering one day with his wife and a pretty little girl. That was more than fifteen years ago."

Nakuru managed a sigh, something not very common for her, and glanced warily at the figure in blue. "They almost never leave their estate. Rumour goes that some strange things go on in that house. The girl wears a porcelain mask; never takes it off. To hide something perhaps? In any case, no one had ever seen Tomoyo's face, only the cold, white glass. If you knew any better, Eriol, you would stay away from her. She is a different sort from what you're used to, you won't be able to handle her. And besides, you'd have to pass her mother before approaching her; Sonomi guards her daughter like a hawk." 

Eriol glanced at where he'd seen the beautiful girl, but she was gone, and so was the Queen. He settled against the wall, ignoring the amiable chatter of his aunt and the joyous laughter of everyone else in the room. His mind was far away, replaying everything that Nakuru had said. This girl, Tomoyo, was able to get a grip on his mind, a task not easily achievable. She was a complete mystery to him, an enigma waiting to be unravelled, comprehended. He only knew so little of her, she'd never even heard of him, and yet, without Eriol even wanting to, this Tomoyo Daidouji had found a stable place in his thoughts. 

A hand on his shoulder interrupted his musings, and he glanced up at his friend. 

"The party has ended, Eriol, its time to get back."

And sure enough, the swarm of people in the grand hall had begun to dissipate, the orchestral band that played during the evening was picking up its instruments, and the festive decorations were being taken down. Without even realizing it, Eriol had missed the entire evening. 

"Come, Nakuru's already left, and you wouldn't want to get lost in this city, especially during the night."

Eriol nodded, though a bit demurely. Before he left the building, however, he surveyed the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of glistening blue hair and cherubic face. He received nothing, and thus left disappointed. 

On the streets, the interplay of lights was still in full force, the laughter still rung through the darkness. There were flashes of a brightly-coloured skirt here, shadows of a wigged figure there. The slight hum of the music still reverberated off the walls and the water, even the stars seemed to be dancing along to the rhythm. _'Heh. The party doesn't stop until the sun comes out,'_ he opined with a soft, semi-smile. 

"What did you think of tonight?" He suddenly asked his friend, feeling awkward for the silence that settled between them. 

"Besides the ridiculous costumes?" Syaoran's voice rang through the night. Eriol found some sort of assurance in it, like a protecting, guiding pillar. He was beginning to fear the night.

"Minus the costumes," Eriol replied with a slight nod. 

The messy -haired youth thought for a moment, slowing his stride. "I had expected nothing else to come of this evening," he finally answered. "I had thought that we would come and waste our time. And we did."

"You mean that nothing productive came out of this night?" his friend challenged, the dare clear in his voice. 

"Well," the other hesitated, rolling the words on his tongue, "I got to see you flustered and gawk like a zombie-eyed fool. Heh. Imagine that in the Sunday Post, 'The Great Hiiragizawa: Flycatcher'. That would leave a nice impression on you relatives." 

"At least I didn't try to pretend that I was an iceberg," snorted Eriol in response. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to try and let people in, they wouldn't bite."

Syaoran sighed and racked his hand through his dishevelled hair. "That's the point. I don't want people to get close to me, I don't want to let people in."

"Why not?" 

"Because if I allow someone to break through my barrier, they would be able to know me, to touch me, to hurt me. It's a defensive mechanism of sorts. You have one, too. While I prefer to recoil from human touch, you shield your contempt behind a smile. While I shrug away contact, you use it as an excuse to hide. I understand how you feel, Eriol... about Mizuki, I mean. If I were you, I would try not to have a repeat occurrence." 

"What if I can't help it?" The note in Eriol's voice was not defensive, neither was it a reproving, angry tone. It was a mere question, a weary friend to a weary friend. He didn't even mind Syaoran mentioning Kaho, though it pained him to think – remember – that name. 

"Then let things flow their own path. Let come what may. Only later, when you're in too deep and too far, only then think of what could have possibly been have you chosen a different road. Without even a little bit of suffering, life loses its flavour. And if it hurts, hey, it might be worth it." 

Eriol paused for a while, letting the words sink in. Syaoran was right. If life was perfect, if everything was handed out on a silver platter with a 'thank you' note, the life would be very dull. It is those challenges, those moments when you're caught unawares or when you find yourself trapped between two equally appealing points, that makes life so interesting. The thrill of not knowing what is next, what could have been, what will be, the simple blindness you have toward tomorrow, is worth a momentary flash of hurt. 

"What do you think of the girl?" Eriol asked. She had been plaguing his mind since the first moment he laid eyes on her. He had wanted to ask Syaoran, but was afraid, uncertain. Of what, he didn't have a clue. 

"The one you couldn't stop staring at? I'd do as Nakuru suggested; she's the expert here," Syaoran replied. "But then again, it's not about me, is it? There is no point in asking me, because, as you well know, I'm not exactly a veteran in these types of things. Further more, it's not my heart that's at stake, and I'm not about to juggle with yours," he paused, letting the night fill in all the things he could not explain. After a while, he continued, "Tell you what, you do what you want to do, as long as you promise not to get hurt. Then I'll have to step in."

Eriol smiled appreciatively, though it was concealed by the darkness. It was at instances such as this that Syaoran showed his overprotective nature. It comforted Eriol to know that somebody, at least, cared about his welfare.

"What about you? Spot any pretty damsels in distress?" Eriol asked to lighten the mood. 

Syaoran sent a mock-glare to his friend, growling softly under his breath. "I also suggest you tend to your own business instead of mine." 

"Aa. So there was someone. Who is she?" 

Another glare, more dangerous and threatening in intensity, was sent his way. "You don't even know her name?" The brunette teased. "And here I thought you were Mr. Casanova."

"Stuff it, Hiiragizawa, and stop imagining things. I do not appreciate you putting words in my mouth," Syaoran said from behind clenched teeth. 

Eriol's laughter rang out through the night, joined by other melodious sounds. His voice was a strong, rich tenor that would have sent a warm shiver to creep up your spine, resounding pleasantly in your ears. The sound was joyous, teasing in nature. It proclaimed that its owner was carefree, wild with passion and temerity, surrendered to the majestic night. And as the stars and the music guided him home, he couldn't help but agree. 

(tbc)

* * * * * * * *


	4. Cantata

A/N: I am extremely sorry for the late update but my computer had a MAJOR system crash. In fact, every file I had is completely destroyed. This means that every story I was writing was erased, and this includes future stories (oh Gawd, there was like ten of those! I'm going to go cry again. Why, oh why?!) Anyways, despite the delay, I hope you like this chapter. 

* * * * * * * * 

****

Chapter 4: Cantata 

Cantata:_ A short lyric form dealing with either secular or sacred subjects_

That night, Eriol dreamed of the girl, Tomoyo. He knew what Nakuru told him of her, knew that he was caught breathless for a moment in time, and he knew her name. He smiled to himself; one foot was in the land of the dreamers, the other, the _dreamer_ part of him, was still in the land of the waking. _Tomoyo. To-mo-yo_. He breathed her name into the darkness, testing out the way it rolled off his tongue, liking how mere three syllables could feel so nice.

In the dream, she had flown to him on iridescent wings, bearing a smile on her face, a promise of an embrace. She whispered to him, murmured soft, incoherent words into his ears, the sound itself too ethereal. Her hair tickled his nose, his chest, and he reached out his hand to touch it, to feel the silky strands between his fingers, and when he did, they were as soft as air. She, in return, reached out to him, a soft blue dress swirling about her slender form. And suddenly he found himself crying; Eriol did not remember feeling sad, nor was he feeling cry-worthy ecstasy. Tomoyo held him, smiling, stroking his hair and cooing softy into his ear.

Her eyes and smile were almost luminous, and as the wakeful world began to greet him, this image installed itself on his mind. 

When he opened his eyes, sun was streaming through the gauzy curtains, and the birds were chirping almost in tandem with laughter of children not too far away. The day was in full swing, and he had almost missed it. Eriol sat up in his bed and stretched languidly; it has been a very, very long time since he last had the privilege to sleep in, it felt nice. He had forgotten what it could be like to relax for once in his life. 

There was a knock on the door, though it didn't open. Victorian modesty and all. 

"Sir," came the voice of a maid, by the sounds of it, she was probably still in her teens, "Mistress requests your presence at the breakfast table, if your Lordship won't be bothered too much." 

"Tell your lady that I'll be down in a minute," he called back. 

A faint 'yes, Milord' was heard before the servant left. Eriol sighed and got to his feet. Nakuru would most likely demand a bit by bit description of last night, seeking out the juicy details. If Eriol was truthful to himself, and he preferred to be, he enjoyed himself very much at the masquerade. It bothered him that he was being displayed like a meaty piece of steak in front of hungry customers. That aside, though, the music and the rhythm had sucked him in, left him weak and merciless in its wake. Eriol enjoyed the feeling of just existing without thought or reason, to be alive for the sake of being alive. It gave him a sense of freedom and security, though those were fleeting. 

And he also saw _her_ last night. She was definitely the highlight of the trip. To have one glance of her, to know her name and whisper it to himself softly during the night, when not one soul could hear him, was an almost sinful pleasure. Eriol had seen her from afar, a mere observer on a rare and wild beauty, a trespasser caught in her snare. He wanted to know more about her, to see her again, to hear her voice from her mouth, to see whether she was as fragile as she appeared to be last night. 

As soon as Eriol thought of this, he felt instantly ashamed. What right had he to think such thoughts about a person he had barely – or more accurately, never – met? She was a complete, beautiful stranger, too far away from his world. '_Further still, she must have a gigantic list of wannabe suitors,' Eriol_ thought despairingly. _'Besides, it's too soon, too dangerous. What if something like last time happens? Would I be able to live through that again? And if I would, I'd be too crushed...'_

He frowned and pulled on a clean shirt, systematically lacing the ties. He was so used to dressing himself, to performing this manual chore, it was like an automatic, a thoughtless action. The frown on Eriol's face remained even as he pulled on dark blue pants and a light overcoat of the same colour. He was still grimacing when he left the room and as he settled into a seat opposite Syaoran. 

Unknown to Eriol, who was adding the sixth spoon of sugar to a tea-less cup, Nakuru and Syaoran were sending darting glances across the table. It was like their own way of communicating, telepathically maybe. The topic of their silent conversation was Eriol, of course, and the ugly look on his face. The two considered themselves to be the only people in the young lord's life that he could depend on. And, grown to read him over the years, Nakuru and Syaoran were very much worried about the usually cheerful Eriol. 

One of Eriol's biggest flaws (if you considered it a flaw) was that he cared too much about other people. He'd always considered the thoughts and feelings of everyone around him, rather than the turmoil going on in his own heart. Syaoran supposed it was a way for him to redeem himself, to gain enough confidence. Eriol had once admitted to having this fear of never being good enough, of never reaching certain demands. And so, he tried to please other people too much to consider how _he_ truly felt. Eriol always had a smile on because he never wanted anyone to be worried or sad for him, he always joked around and laughed as if he was born to do it. But Syaoran knew better, sometimes, when they attended Eaton (1) together, he would hear Eriol weep softly to himself during the stark hours of the night. He never dared to interrupt; opting instead to remain silent and pretend that he heard nothing. Still, it crushed the chestnut-haired lad to see his friend suffer. 

"So, what did you think of last night?" Nakuru decided to break the ice, sending another encoded look to Syaoran. 

Eriol double blinked, which was typical if you had just awoken but seemed rather odd if you'd been up for quite some time. "I must admit, it was a lot more than I had anticipated," he answered after taking a moment to comprehend the question. He smiled almost benevolently at Nakuru. 

"Was it as fun as said it would be?" She asked back, leaning closer to him across the table. 

"Fun?" Eriol thought for a moment. "Yes and no. I had enjoyed the momentary lapse. It's nice to just let yourself go once in a while. But I did _not_ enjoy being auctioned off, Nakuru," he said this last with an almost accusing glare in the mentioned aunt's direction. 

"Is that why you look so gloomy today?" She asked. 

"I'm not gloomy."

"And what do you call that look on your face?" Syaoran stepped in, mimicking a fair rendition of Eriol's frown. "Couldn't tell you apart from one of those gargoyle statuettes Nakuru has as paperweights. Seriously, I'd thought you had a hernia or something."

"Gee, thanks, Syaoran, I'll take that as a complement. Coming from you, it should be worth a lot," Eriol replied darkly, though not without his own share of humour. 

Syaoran grinned almost imperceptibly at the other boy, and said coyly, "You honour me."

Eriol brought the cup of sugar to his lips, intending to take a sip, when Nakuru's voice stopped him. "Eriol, I just want you to be happy."

"I know," he answered solemnly, avoiding her eyes.

"I just... just think that you need to have something take your mind off matters," she continued. "It surely won't do you any good to if you overstress yourself. You're my little Eriol-chan, and I don't want to see you suffer. Neither do I want to see you locked up in a proverbial castle, brooding. Don't you know that your happiness means that I, we, can be happy, too? Just... promise... no... just be careful what you get yourself into." 

Eriol nodded, staring into the cup and for the first time realizing that it was full of just sugar. He found it rather comical, but somehow, he couldn't find it in him to laugh. And so, he just nodded, letting the silence be his answer. He could tell that Syaoran felt very much the same, and he appreciated the concern though it was rather hard for him to admit. 

"Now, come on, hurry up and finish with breakfast," Nakuru said in an overly zealous voice. "It's almost noon and I want to go the bazaar. And Syaoran wanted to go to a higher elevation to see the Grande Canal better."

"What for?" Eriol asked, feeling more like his usual self. 

"I wanted to do a study of the water and how the sun and the city would reflect in it," replied Syaoran. "I've been considering doing a landscape. For memory's sake."

* * * * * * * * 

Later that evening, the trio bound again toward the festivities. Syaoran, a true aesthetic, had thought it was magic. The sky was black velvet, the stars dancing with the tiny flickers of light here and there on people's doors and in windows. There was a pure artistic drive in him that told him, quite threateningly, to capture the night, the music and the magic. He found his hands twitching as if in anticipation of holding a brush, smearing great blobs of paint over canvas. 

They were going to a different place this time, Nakuru was reciting the patron's history as they walked the noisy streets. Syaoran didn't pay much attention, though, nor did Eriol, he suspected. He grinned and nearly doubled over with glee at the pouty look on the lord's face. He almost wanted to say something scorching, to make Eriol feel as much pain as he did the previous night. The Little Wolf, as was his nickname from his school days, had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing out when the other lord rubbed a hand over his goose pimpled arms. 

Eriol was wearing an Aladdin costume, from one of the tales of Shaharizad. The raven-haired boy resembled more a Harem, rather than a lowlife waif. Eriol walked with almost painful steps, wincing visibly when the little bells around his waist and turban jiggled. The outfit itself was of fine craftsmanship. A deep blue satin-like material was used for the billowy pants; Nakuru commented on how nicely the cloth had made Eriol's legs stand out, especially when he stepped into the light and the material became almost transparent. There wasn't much of a tunic, only an ivory vest with gilded vein design that was just long enough to leave a scandalous amount of skin exposed. 

As if on cue, Eriol turned to Syaoran with a glare, "Don't you dare say I look ridiculous," he said, biting off every word. 

Holding his hands in mock innocence, the other boy replied: "You said it not me" at which Eriol growled and moved ahead of Nakuru, muttering very un-gentlemanly curses under his breath. 

This party took place at an open field, with hundreds of miniature lights dangling from trees and suspended along the fence. A food table and an orchestra were set up along the sides. Upon arriving, Syaoran left the other two, as if pursuing a quest of his own, which could have been rather humorous, seeing as he was dressed as a crusader. His eyes scanned the crowd anxiously, darting from one masked face to another. He was looking for something he had a glimpse of last night, a fleeting flash of colour, the sway of soft honey hair. He had an impulse last night, an almost primal call that made him search the crowd of faces. And then he saw _her._

After nearly two hours of fruitless searching, the Little Wolf was about to give up and look for Nakuru or Eriol, his tail tucked between his legs (no pun intended). Just then, the same instinct that made him lift his head up yesterday turned on again. He scanned the mass with more vigour, more desperation, as if he would die there and then if he did not at least _try._ And then, he saw her. 

She was a proverbial beacon of light, of safety and mystique, of unknown territory and ethereal beauty. He'd saw her the previous night, practically glowing in her fairy costume. Her hair bounced with miniature lights, seemingly alive. She was flushed and smiling, which accented her honey bob of hair quite nicely, he thought. She was dressed as a Greek lady today, though Syaoran could barely tell the difference between her and a goddess, descended from one of Keats' poems. She exerted so much light, so much vivacious energy and radiance, he was pulled in. Unwillingly almost, he found his feet moving in her direction. 

* * * * * * * * 

Eriol had been feeling extremely awkward that evening. He felt transparent – or maybe that was just the clothes? –, he felt almost as if every person in the crowd was looking at him, laughing at him, could see right through his soul. Nakuru and Syaoran had long since disappeared, leaving him stranded. He did wonder for a bit what could be so important to his friend to actually make him _want_ to join in the festivities. No matter, he would find out soon enough. And while Eriol was fidgeting under imagined scrutiny, he could not help but wonder and hope that perhaps Tomoyo would be here, too. The possibilities were favourable on his side, though he yet to catch a glimpse of the girl who'd plagued his dreams that night. 

Almost ready to give up and head home, Eriol was suddenly jolted out of his reverie when he caught sight of a pale, white almost face amongst a sea of faces. Didn't Nakuru say something about Tomoyo always wearing a porcelain mask? Could his mind have been playing tricks on him? Eriol shook his head; it must have been the music and the wine. And then he caught another fleeting glint of white, just at the corner of his eyes. Warily, he moved closer, seeking the face again. 

(tbc)

* * * * * * * * 

(1) Eaton was (or still is) a prestigious college especially for boys at the time this story takes place. Though I still like Oxford better. Oh, and there's nothing perverted going on between Eriol and Nakuru. I have very little taste for incest, thank you very much.

And after such a long wait, '**yes**,' you do have my permission flame. 


	5. Accent

A/N: the southern part of Ontario and where I live in particular is going through the SARS epidemic (it's a new disease to which immunity hasn't been developed yet). And so, I'm (and 200 or so other students from my school) now officially under a 10-day quarantine from the rest of the world because, apparently, I've been to a hospital recently and there were cases of the disease there, so I'm at risk of catching it. But anyway, this means that I have a ten-day vacation and hopefully I'll be able to get some writing done.

Thankies at the bottom of page. 

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Chapter 5: Accent 

_Accent: Stress of one tone over others, making it stand out; often it is the first beat of a measure_

Syaoran stalked to the refreshment table where he caught sight of the pretty girl, being careful to seem inconspicuous, a small piece of a whole. He had absolutely no idea as to why he was coming over to her (it might have been teenage hormones, coming to play after years of laying dormant), nor why it was her, and her only, that attracted his attention over a hundred other ladies. He bit his lip and tried to steel his nerves, to keep on a steady pace, but his feet felt like lead, each step a tedious process. As it was, Syaoran had to ball his hands into fists and keep them clutched tightly at his side. It was either that, or he'd bolt from his spot faster than if he was chased by the seven hells. 

The Little Wolf reached the table, which was laden with different assortments of foods and beverages. He grabbed a glass, just to seem as if he was doing something other than stealing glances at the pretty girl. He never actually considered talking to her; oh, no, he was much to shy for that (even though at his age that should have seemed ridiculous). Syaoran just wanted to get closer to her, to maybe catch a glimpse of her eyes, and if he was really lucky (and he didn't consider himself to be) even have her look at _him._

"Oh, excuse me, will you pass me a glass?" 

Startled, Syaoran looked up from the half-empty glass in his hand and into the face of the speaker, and almost choked on his tongue. There she was! Right in front of him, looking at him! He forced himself to stay cool, to keep eyes from staring and reached for an extra glass. He was terrified to note that his hand shook slightly when he handed the utensil to her. 

"Thank, you," she replied in a soft voice. Syaoran forgot how to breathe, blushing furiously while staring at his feet. She sounded like an angel, much like she resembled a goddess. 

The girl did not move away but remained standing by him, turning to watch the dancing crowd while taking small sips of her vine. The lord just stole furtive glances in her direction in-between glancing at his feet and at the gathering.

Truly, he was amazed. Syaoran was beginning to think that he would never find the One; heck, that he wasn't even capable of feeling anything but humility and remorse toward the opposite gender. When he was still in school, there had been many girls coming over after the curfew hours for the parties that other guys secretly held. Syaoran couldn't remember feeling anything for those girls; he couldn't even be bothered to take note of their names. Other times, when Eriol purposely set him up on a date with a wealthy matron, he'd always find an excuse to lose the lady as fast as possible and retreat. He was notorious for his cold nature and prided his tolerance of the female species. Why, then, did he suddenly feel this magnetic pull toward _this_ girl, when so many in the past had failed? And why did his heart suddenly leap in his throat when she glanced at him?

"I haven't seen you around. Are you new to the city or just visiting for the festivities?" The girl asked, glancing at him. 

Her eyes were an astonishing green, Syaoran determined, dazed. Remembering his tongue (which he might have lost during the first few minutes in her company), he replied shakily, "Oh! N-no, and yes. I am visiting, but I'm here for my friend. H-he's here hoping to find someone."

She smiled and Syaoran thought it accentuated her eyes and sparkly white half-mask very much. "Then welcome to the city," she said laughingly, extending a hand to him. 

The young lord didn't know what to do at first, was afraid of doing anything, but then hesitantly took her hand in his own, shaking in gentlemanly fashion; he forgot that gentlemen were supposed to kiss the lady's hand. Her hand was warm and soft, just like he imagined it to be.

"Do– do you come to these types of gatherings often?" Syaoran asked after a lengthy period of silence. 

"Yes," she said with a sigh, which Syaoran, for reasons unknown to him, found a pale and painful contrast to her smiles. "It is my duty, so to say." 

"You say it as if it's a bad thing," he replied, feeling the heat from his cheeks abate and his usual calmness settle in. 

"It is."

"But, how can that be?" The lord asked, perplexed. "Every night you dress up, pretend you're someone else. Enjoy the music and the merriment. What's wrong with that?" 

"But that's the problem," she intoned with a small frown and another sigh. "Everything," she gestured around the gathering, "is one big pretence." 

"Isn't that the point?" 

"It is," the girl replied, " but after a while, you lose yourself. You forget who you are and know only what you're supposed to be. Look at the people around you. Do they seem real? No. They're playing this... game, and they can't help it... Oh! What am I saying! I'm not making any sense, am I?" The pretty girl had abandoned her glass, placing her hand against her cheek in distress, as if checking for temperature. 

"I understand what you mean," Syaoran replied and, for whatever reason, fighting the beginning of a smile. "But, that's what makes these nights so special. For once in your life, you're not you. You don't have to act like you usually do, because it's not expected of you. You don't have to question whether you are being true to yourself because that's not the point of the occasion." 

"I suppose," she said, "but you would see this masquerade differently if you had to live through it every single day of your life."

Syaoran nodded absent -mindedly, lost in his thoughts. He didn't understand what she meant, was wary of what she implied, but now was not the time to dwell on it. Suddenly, feeling a bit risky and just daring enough, he said in what he hoped was a charming note, "Would you let me thieve a dance, O Aphrodite?" 

"I–" he saw the girl falter, nibbling on her lip, "I don't know, sir–"

"Li Syaoran," the Little Wolf said, bowing slightly. "But please, call me Syaoran."

She smiled nervously, inclining her head as if to hide her face. "Sir Syaoran... I-I'm afraid I... uh..." the beauty was stuttering like a schoolgirl, her face flushing a delicate pink. Syaoran found it endearing and almost smiled at her nervousness. 

"Kinomoto!" 

The girl was interrupted abruptly. Syaoran noted the widening of her emerald orbs, as if in fright. She glanced behind her, searching for the voice. "I must go," she breathed out, taking his hands in hers. "Thank you for your company, Sir Syaoran." With that, she rushed off, leaving Syaoran bewildered and tingling where her hands had touched. 

"Wait, Miss. I don't even know your name!" He called out on instinct, forgetting that there were over two hundred people around him. 

The girl paused in flight, her skirts coming to a gentle swoosh around her. "Sakura," she called back with a smile. "Kinomoto Sakura."

__

Sakura. Syaoran mentally repeated her name, storing it away in his memory until he was alone to dwell on the sweeter nuances of the sound. Unbeknownst to him, a gentle smile tugged at his lips, a first real one in a long time. _Sakura. Sakura._ He chanted the name to himself, drawing a hand to place it on his chest, just above where his heart was supposed to be nestled. His heart beat steady and strong against his palm, drowning out every other noise but the reverberation of her voice. _Sakura._

* * * * * * * * 

Eriol caught a glimpse of blue, a mere hint, no more than a flicker of colour at the corner of his eyes. Still, it drew his attention, peaked his curiosity and reeled him in, like a moth entranced by the beautiful flame. Only this one was an enchantingly cool, magical in colour. 

Eriol wove through the crowd, feeling like it was parting before him like tides. Every now and then, he caught that same blue, like a whisper, a promise of something he wanted but couldn't name or reach. He didn't doubt for a moment that it was Tomoyo he was chasing; in his mind, there could be no other, for no one had ever exerted such magnetic force on him. The question on his mind was: why? It seemed to him that there was just something magical in the situation, something surreal and horrible and beautiful at the same time. Or maybe it was just Fate, playing with him like with a string-drawn marionette. 

In a blink of an eye, it seemed, he had left the party and ended up in a deserted alleyway. Eriol stood for a moment, breathless and weary of the seemingly narrowing street around him. He removed the purple and black mask from his face, feeling as if it was suddenly threatening him. The houses towered over him, making him feel small and insignificant; he couldn't even see the night sky. There was practically no sound about him, only distant murmurs from the party, he assumed.

Eriol strained his ears and eyes, spinning on his spot, seeking the blue pallor that first attracted him. For an instant, he thought that everything was a dream, one that enveloped him whole while he searched in vain for an exit. He fancied that everything moved in slow motion. That shadows danced around him, playing amongst themselves, pointing at him and then moving away before he could catch them. They were laughing at him, the silence their voice, pointing at him jeering fingers and smirking cruel and wretched smirks. 

Suddenly, he caught that same blue radiance at the corner of his eye. Eriol spun on his heal, attempting to catch it, but instead was meat with an entry way to some sort of a tunnel-like path, a sliver of moonlight painting the way. He then heard the clicking of shoes against the cobblestones, the sound resonated around him but concentrated on the passage. 

"Wait!" He called, shrinking back as the alley – or the shadows – echoed his voice. "Tomoyo?"

There was laughter in response, cruel and melodious at the same time, beautiful but harsh. The clicking of shoes sped up in rhythm, as if the person was running. 

Eriol edged closer to the pathway. "Wait, Miss Tomoyo?" He called out again. 

He glanced behind him but found that his entryway wasn't there, sealed off, disappeared as did the music and the merriment. Eriol gulped, feeling the shadows creep closer to him, almost touching him with imperceptible claws. His breath caught in his throat, the young lord ran into the passageway, the moonlight his guide. 

Dazedly, Eriol realized that he was running through the narrowed street, no longer fleeing from the darkness, but chasing the footsteps and the ringing laughter. His mission was clear now; Tomoyo was ahead of him, running, though he didn't know why, and he had to catch her. He desperately wanted to hear her, to have a good look at her, and he didn't care that that wasn't the most sensible thing to do at the time. He just wanted one look, that's all, that's all he promised himself. 

The alley twisted and turned, every corner had another one after it, and still the moon guided him. Eriol could hear the steps ahead of him grow louder, closer to him and he almost smiled, victorious. Another bend in the path and he saw blue cloth almost slither by; he followed it, determined. Suddenly, the path ended in a pier, his feet barely touching the water. Confused, he stared at the waters of the Grande Canal, blinking back astonishment. He swore he saw her come this way, further still, there was no other way to go. 

A movement to his left caught his attention. Turning, he saw a nighttime gondola glide away. One dark figure stood in the centre, cloaked in darkness, the large oar plunging into the dark waters soundlessly and coming out just the same. For a moment, Eriol thought it was Charon transporting the un-dead across the river Styx. What really caught his eye, though, was a small figure in the boat. It was hunched, seemingly wanting to shrink along with the darkness of the night and the oarsman. Eriol wouldn't have given it a second thought if it weren't for a piece of blue cloth sticking out underneath and over the side of the boat, touching the water. 

"I'll catch you one day, Miss Tomoyo!" He called out into the night and the small figure, which was very much unlike him. "Promise me you'll wait!" 

Only silence answered him, though he fancied he caught sight of a pale hand reach out, to him maybe. And so, unsatisfied, indeed, feeling his desire to see the girl intensified, Eriol turned back the way he came. Now, the shadows didn't seem so menacing, and he was beginning to think himself insane for ever actually considering that the darkness was laughing at him. Darkness could only speak inside the mind, at night and when you don't have the reassurance of somebody by your side. Eventually, he reached the party, which was still in full swing, but he didn't care for the celebrations any more. So he left for home and bed and more thoughts of the mysterious Tomoyo, completely forgetting about his aunt and best friend. 

(tbc)

* * * * * * * * 

Now, I've finally set some important things in motion. All the key characters have been introduced, and now I can finally concentrate on the conflict. *sigh* Woopty-doo! Oh, ya! I should probably mention that this story was originally horror, so it will have some influences of that genre. (Actually, should I make this into a horror story with a romantic twist?)

AznSage: Thanks so much for the review (you think I have a nice way with words? Really?) Sure, you can archive my fic, any of them for that matter. You probably won't believe me, but I've been to your site before (about a month or so ago), that's were I got my Tobira~Door~ mp3 ^___^ I like it, I like it! You're a shounen-ai fan, too o_O Gah! I swear, fangirls are going to dominate the world, there are so many of us! I'll most likely start writing more shounen-ai stories a bit later on. Thanks, again.

MoMo-ChAn: *sob* Not flame-worthy? Aa. I don't think this story is that good, but thanks for your nice comments. And I weep for my lost stories, too. Oi, there were so many and all not finished! 

d u s t y . w i n g s: Thankies for your comments, I appreciate them very much, they keep me writing, ya know ^^ 

Sakura Scout: Aa, I'm glad that I've cleared some things up. Sorry I didn't write anything in Tomoyo's POV in this part but I was afraid of the length and because she doesn't think much of Eriol until after this chapter. Actually, I'm having some techincal difficulties with Tomoyo's persona. Right now, it's a tie between fragile-doll-ish and rebellious-doll-ish (I know, confusing). If you won't mind terribly, can you give me some pointers? I'd love to know how readers expect my stories to come out, or give me some advice. Thankies! Hugs go out to you!

KyteAura: Ooooh, you've been with me and my endeavours since almost the beginning! Thank you so much, I really appreciate your comments. Yes, I do feel like quitting. In fact, I feel like giving up on all of the stories that were erased because I'm afraid that I can't recreate them. *sniff*

SVZ: Another regular! Wai! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I use AOL, too, so I know what pain it could be sometimes. Of course Eriol will win Tomoyo! But before that, there will be this little conflict (or major, considering that it's eating up the entire plot), just to mix things up a little. 

Dana Daidouji: Sorry I couldn't get them to met in this part; I'm saving that for a rainy day ^^. And sadly, I can't retrieve all my lost files. It's like my entire computer have been erased and re-formatted. Thanks for the reviews, by the way! 


	6. Intermezzo

A/N: didn't get much writing done ^^' but at least I'm almost finished Kingdom Hearts (Riku... ;__;). Oh, Sakura Scout, you are right, that is almost exactly the same thing I had planned for Tomoyo-chan, though a bit more involvement from her mother. Oh, and _Danse Macabre_ means 'horrible/ terrifying dance.'

Ryrahd: Aa. Gomen nasai! I know, I know, I should have updated sooner but I've run into some problems. 

Ruesar: Don't believe her! She'd been bugging me about my love life for the past several days!

Ry: I have not! *Stuffs a sock down Rue's throat* *cough* I have NOT been bugging poor, cute little boys about their... *cough* love lives. Seriously, I did have conflicts *ducks head* Dun kill me!

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Chapter 6: Intermezzo

__

Intermezzo: n_, short piece of music, esp. one performed between acts of an opera. _

Tomoyo sighed pensively, clasping her hands on her lap. What had she been thinking? Stunts like that were too dangerous, too risky, in her opinion. What if things went out of hand? What would she do then? And the young man, what would happen to him? The raven-haired girl shook her head to dissolve the path her thoughts tread. 

Tomoyo had seen him two night's prior, standing awkwardly off to the side, seemingly wanting to shrink in his Pierrot smock. He appeared so childlike, so naïve and innocent in the white robe, she almost mistook him for a fairytale creature, a pantomime character on a run from his playhouse. He stood out among the crowd like a speck of light beset by darkness, inexperienced and unfamiliar with the rules of Carnivàl. Clearly, he was not from her world – one of illusion and frightening mystique – and that knowledge attracted her. She knew that such thoughts were forbidden – she'd been drilled this since she was a child – but still, she could not help but watch furtively, hiding behind her mask and sea of people. 

And again last night, she'd seen him, equally inexperienced but no longer innocent looking in the very... intricate costume he was wearing. Against herself and everything she'd been taught, she blushed furiously at his alabaster-smooth abdomen, the porcelain mask harshly cold against her heated cheeks. She didn't know why, but the impulse to flee overcame her and so she ran, weaving through the mass of multicoloured bodies, not daring to turn back and see what happened to the boy – man – with skin resembling ivory and hair the same hue as the sky at midnight. 

She was heading toward the gondola that was waiting for her, especially appointed by her mother for such purposes. Tomoyo breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of the stifling atmosphere, the pretence. Then she heard her name being called, and she ran faster afraid of whom the summoner might be. He – for the strides were too lengthy and agile to belong to a woman – chased her all the way to the pier. Only when she was safely nestled in the boat did Tomoyo allow herself to breathe again, to take a wondering peek at the pursuer. It was he: the young man that seemed so foreign these past two nights.

"I'll catch you one day, Miss Tomoyo! Promise me you'll wait!" She heard him call out into the darkness, and shivered involuntarily at the plea and vow in his voice.

No, such thoughts were not allowed. Not accepted. Fake, false, a lie, a broken promise and a prelude to despair. Tomoyo did not want to have this feeling – this uncertainty and hopefulness – gnaw on her ever again, because in the end, there was no escape and no one could help her. 

With another sigh, she looked out her window and to the slightly brightening sky. 

* * * * * * * * 

Eriol stumbled through the morning Venetian streets, seemingly in a daze. Occasionally, he brought up a hand to brush at his fringe, almost peeling the hair from his sweat glistening forehead. He felt tired, though oddly rejuvenated. He could barely remember what he did the previous night, little fragments of colour and sound and laugher marring his mind. A headache was nagging at his in the back of his head, threatening him with a vile rebuke. 

The atmosphere was surreal, he just a wanderer, a trespasser upon uncharted territory. Now that the streets were empty, everything that had happened seemed nothing more than a dream. Was it a dream? Did last night truly occur or did he dream it up, just as he was dreaming of right now? Was any of this real? Was he? How could he be sure? 

The young lord muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck in hopes of clearing some of the dizziness away. No, the migraine that was now bludgeoning on him was real, so was the pain. The air slightly sweeping through his hair was also real. So, therefore, last night truly had occurred. 

Eriol fought down a groan and the urge to bash his head open against some blunt object. How could he do something so ridiculous, so unlike him? _'Really, chasing after a lady at night as if I was some perverted dunce, calling out to her like a lunatic? I must be losing my wits,'_ he thought ruefully, with a slight shake of his head. _'Next I know, I'll be serenading her outside her window like a lovesick fool. And then, I might as well be sent to the local asylum, to at least spare myself some dignity.' _

He sighed and glanced around him, bringing his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The houses looming around him did not seem familiar, but, rather, like ancient sentinels, rearing their cold fronts at him. _'I must have gotten lost on my way home last night. I didn't even realize where I was going, just following a path, letting my feet guide me. Nakuru and Syaoran must be worried.' _He could just imagine his aunt nibbling on her poor nails, whining pathetically and clutching at Spinel's sleeve. 

Eriol frowned, his brow furrowing. He hated making people worry; he didn't think he deserved the trouble, wasn't good enough. The brunette didn't like pity, either; he was afraid of what it said about his character, and if he were truthful with himself, what _he_ would learn about himself if he accepted that pity. And still, he appreciated Nakuru and Syaoran's concern; it made him feel less visceral, more real. 

Sometimes, after another meeting with his family members (who constantly bickered, mostly about his age and worth), he would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming silently. Sweat would trickle down his forehead and make the thin cotton shirt he wore to bed cling to his body. He always expected harsh sounds to come his way, to hear Her screams, and he would clutch at his hair and pretend he didn't hear anything, though the sounds were only in his head. And on other nights, when he was greeted only with silence, he would cry soundlessly so as not to wake anyone up. The noises that assailed his ears (be it screams or silence) would make him feel small, puny and alone, abandoned and lost. And so, he would cry himself to sleep, weeping but not shedding a tear. If there were people who cared about him, he didn't feel the press of loneliness like a cold hand upon him, not as intensely, more like a simpering something in the back of his mind.

With another sigh, Eriol walked on, subconsciously taking note of all he saw, in case he ever trod these paths again. Almost an hour later, when still-drowsy people were stumbling out of their houses and into the streets or balconies, he reached a familiar-looking corner store (where a portly salesman was arranging the tomatoes). Hopeful, Eriol picked up speed, though his feet ached terribly. Another corner and a winding alley later, he stepped in the reddened cobblestones that lead to his aunt's house. 

He smiled slightly at the sight, oddly relieved. His aunt and home had always been synonymous with love and care, to him at least. 

"Eriol!" The said young man heard a shrill voice exclaim, and though it was loud enough to damage his ears, he was grateful to hear it (perhaps for the first and only time in his life).

"Nakuru, I – "

"I've been worried sick about you!" The redhead nearly screamed, flinging herself at him. "Syaoran and I were looking everywhere for you after the party ended. We even went knocking on some people's doors! Do you know how it feels, Eriol?"She asked and he could hear the strained sob escape her throat; his heart clenched at the sound. "We thought you were abducted – b-because of your money – or dead somewhere in a dark, damp alley. We didn't know what to do! Oh, Eriol, don't you dare scare me like that ever again!" 

Eriol fought down the urge to roll his eyes when Nakuru embraced him, her tears seeping through the Aladdin vest he still had on. 

"Shh, Nakuru, shh. I understa –" he began, patting her head in a soothing fashion. 

"No! You don't Eriol!" Nakuru cried out, looking up at him accusingly. The youth winced at the earnest tears in her eyes and tried to shrink in his costume. "You're like the son I never had, or the little brother I always wanted. And I don't want to see you hurt because it would hurt me, more than you can possibly imagine. I wouldn't be able to stand it if you were gone. Eriol, for my sake, if not for yours, stay safe." 

Eriol swallowed past the lump in his throat, nodding. 

"Now, come inside, Eriol-chan. It's too early to be out, and besides, we wouldn't want the neighbours to catch an eyeful with the outfit you're wearing," she muttered quickly after a while, wiping her tears in an offhand fashion. 

"Hai, hai," the young man replied lightly following her inside the house. The awkward knot in his stomach refused to abate, despite his coaxing. A moment later, he asked, "Hey, Nakuru? Did you stay up all night waiting for me?" 

His aunt glanced at him, grinning sheepishly. "Nah. I fell asleep almost immediately after we came home. I just wanted to wake up earlier to see the sunrise; there's nothing like sunrise in Venice after Carnival. The city looks as if it's gold." 

"Yes," answered Eriol, "it does." And though he smiled faintly at the jest in her voice, he knew for a fact that Nakuru did not go to sleep; that became a bit obvious when you looked into her bloodshot and tired eyes. 

* * * * * * * * 

"I still don't think that you should have left the way you did," Syaoran stated coolly, scowling at the heat. "What if something had happened?" 

"But it didn't," the other young lord said back, "and shouldn't that be enough? You're being too overprotective, is what I think —" 

"I am not —" 

"And I understand where you're coming from," Eriol continued, unmindful of the interruption. "But I'm not a child; I'm a big boy now, if you can't tell. And I can take care of myself."

Syaoran scowled into the profile of his friend, clenching his jaw to keep himself from firing a scathing retort. 

The two were walking along the bazaar, their finely tailored coats hanging loosely off their shoulders, the top few buttons of their shirts open (despite their modesty) to escape the heat. At mid-afternoon, the sun was high in the sky, bathing the city in a wave of jolting heat. Nakuru kicked the two of them out of the stuffy house, saying that she had a ladies' exclusive – no men allowed – and that they needed more exploring before leaving for homeland. 

And so, the two London-dwellers, walked through the streets, turning their heads this way and that, marvelling at all the products on displays and occasionally stopping in the shade of a tree (which was rare) to cool off. 

"Why did you leave anyway?" Syaoran asked, brushing his hair away from his eyes. 

Eriol shrugged, not wanting to admit his weakness but not willing to lie to his friend. "Something caught my eye," he compromised. 

"And was she worthy of your eye?" Little Wolf asked, grinning slyly. 

If Eriol was surprised, he hid it well, only the rising of his eyebrows an indication that he was startled. "More than that; she's worthy of my attention, of my thought and my heart, I fear," he answered. 

Syaoran sighed. "Don't let the freedom get to you, Eriol, because in the end, you'll leave this place and her and your heart with her. And then you'll be hurt again. A heart – a lover's, dreamer's heart – is precious because it is the most fragile, the easiest to capture of them all. You cannot afford to lose it. No, not again." 

"You're one to talk," Eriol snorted, puffing out his cheeks boyishly. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Grinning, the raven-haired youth replied, "Oh, you're not fooling me Syao-chan, I've seen the way you acted yesterday night at the ball. All starry-eyed and smile-y, I thought you were possessed. And then you keep on murmuring her name when you think I don't hear. What was is? Saku –" 

"No, don't! Don't finish that word!" Syaoran exclaimed, mortified at being found out. 

"And why not? Are you afraid –" he teased light-heartedly. 

"No, I'm not," the more taciturn of the two replied, seething. "And it's different with her."

"Oh? How so?" 

Blushing, Syaoran looked down to the toes of his leather shoes. "She's kind and gentle and warm. She's like a breath of fresh air to a humid, stifling chamber. And like light, too. And oh so unattainable, untouchable." He blinked the dazedness away, the scowl returning. "Besides, I will never be foolish enough as to fall heedlessly in love."

Eriol smiled knowingly, like he usually did. Empathic, he was always able to tell what his friend was feeling or trying to say without actually saying anything. "Ah, but you forget the Golden Rule: when it comes to love, there is no never, no foolishness or heedlessness. Love is the one single most powerful emotion on this planet. It surpasses everything you can fathom and everything you cannot. When the time comes, you'll fall in love, too, willingly or not. And when the chance arrives, you have to go after it, seize it." 

Syaoran just sighed and shook his head, exasperated. Clearly, there was no stopping his friend, especially not when he thought he was right. 

"You're being overly dramatic, Eriol. And though poetry is nice, there is no room for it in real life," he muttered under his breath. 

The sun was beginning to set when the two, hands laden with souvenirs, started for home. They took a different route this time, deciding to go through the quieter section of the town. Gradually, the housing complexes gave way to more grand, statuesque edifices, similar to Nakuru's mansion. Syaoran was walking in front, his long, purposeful strides seeming too strict to the other youth. Eriol could tell that the chestnut-haired lord was deep in thought, perhaps over what he mentioned, about love and that girl.

Abruptly, Eriol froze in place, eyes darting around the beautiful buildings, searching. Something he couldn't quite place a finger on had mad him stop. That same force tugged on his stomach muscles, made him turn to his right to face a slate-coloured mansion. Unwittingly, he moved over to the black iron fence, looking up at the Gothic-style windows. The wind picked up speed around him, making his hair and loose fabric of his shirt dance along with the dust that settled over the ground. The swish of it around his body sounded oddly like a whisper, a call or prayer – to him, maybe. Eriol squinted his eyes against the setting sun, and at that moment caught a wraith-like figure looking through the third floor window down at him. 

For that instance, when he thought their eyes met, his breath stilled in his lungs, his heart nearly stopped its steady rhythm and his blinking slowed down until he couldn't close his eyes, only watch the phantasm-like figure. Time stilled for him, too, until there was nothing in his universe but her. _Tomoyo..._

"Eriol! Have you decided to become a lamppost all of a sudden? Hurry up!" 

Syaoran's harsh voice broke the moment, and when he blinked again, the heavenly apparition was gone. 

"Are you coming home today or not?"

Finding his voice, Eriol replied shakily, "Yeah.. I-I'm coming.. Just thought I dropped something." With that, he gave another glance to the house and the window, hoping to catch the illusion again, and followed his best friend. 

"Hey, Eriol?" Syaoran said after a long while of silence, during which the mentioned lord kept on replaying the dream-like scenario. "What you said about love...? I don't think that love is a worthy enough excuse for you to pursue an obsession."

(tbc)

* * * * * * * * 

I don't want to make Eriol seem like a wussy, but believe me, he has a good reason to cry himself to sleep at night. So, obviously, this story will have angst, but not too much. 


	7. Serenade

A/N: Ano... sorry I made everyone wait for this chapter -__-' [Author's Block, thou art a villain and a coward; I defy thee! I swear upon the stars and the very bottom of my soul, that I shalt conquer thee! And henceforth, the gift of pen wilt be granted to me with full vengeance! And thine gift, pen, I'll use to ours advantage.] Sakura Scout: I don't play any instrument (I chose to follow visual arts path) but if I did play, it definitely would have been the violin. I love the violin! The musical terms are from the time that I took music in elementary school and research.

* * * * * * * * 

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Chapter 7: Serenade

_Serenade:_ n _music played or sung to a woman by a lover. _

Eriol glared at the air, though it was invisible, wishing to sink into the floor. The previous party had ended in disaster for him, so why did he bother coming to this one? Partly because he felt obligated to Nakuru – for everything that she had done for him, for the hellish time he gave her while growing up – and partly because he was hoping to see Tomoyo again. He had, after all, promised to catch her, and he, being a man of honour, never backed down from his word. And tonight, he was determined to capture the little blue bird.

The youth's heart picked up speed at the thought of the girl. What would she think of him? Last night she had had a mere glimpse of him, if that much at all. Would she like what he had to offer? Even though he was a renowned heartthrob, would that be enough to charm her? He didn't like being appraised on exterior value, like a toy being bought for a spoiled child. He hoped that she would see through and beyond his pale skin and sapphire eyes and see the him inside. He wished that she would be able to find his heart and appreciate it for what it was. And if not, then his obsession will be fruitless and vain, like an empty promise. 

One day had passed since Eriol declared his vow to Lady Tomoyo, mere hours since he saw the haunting figure in the window of that ancient-looking house. During that expanse of time, lord Hiiragizawa had not been able to rest, tormented by strange thoughts and memories he'd rather forget; he managed a short nap, but that, too, felt strange and oddly distorted. They'd been invited to wealthy patron's ball this evening – one Lord Tsukishiro, Nakuru had said – and were now observing the crowd from atop a wining staircase. 

"Stop fidgeting, Eriol," Syaoran said, mildly irritated, from beside his friend. "You're acting as if you stepped into cow dung along the way and are trying, fruitlessly, to cover it up. You've done this before, so this time does not make a difference."

"Pardon me, Your Highness," said Eriol with a mock bow to his friend. "I did not mean to offend Your Graciousness. Would you prefer me to shrink away from Your Magnificence?" 

"No why would I want that, hm?" Syaoran asked with a lopsided grin. "If you were gone, then I'd have no one to take my insults." 

Eriol scrunched his face, "Insults? Ha! I take them as compliments." 

"I was only stating the truth. You're so high above the clouds; it's a wonder you don't touch the stars." 

Eriol grinned at the innocent jest. To tell the truth, he very much liked these verbal duels with his best friend. They started when they were small, all in good nature. Syaoran was a very... deep person; he didn't like to express himself unless he had another way out. These small jibes were his way of showing his concern. _'You're a dork,'_ meant: _'Why are you acting so strangely, do you feel sick?'_ _'You look like somebody had smashed your face with a shovel,'_ turned out to be: _'You look like crap, what happened to you?'_ and the famous, 'Hiiragizawa!!' meant 'You better explain yourself, Eriol, before I beat you to a bloody pulp.'

"If I'm above the clouds, then you're up the creek without a paddle," he retorted with a small smile, ignoring the indignant look he received from his best friend. 

"Boys, boys, boys. Stop acting like children, people will be staring," Nakuru huffed, coming over to them in her heavy Joan of Act armour. 

"Then let them stare," said Eriol dismissively. 

"And ruin my reputation? Not on your live." She frowned. "Now look what you did, your costume is all messed up!" 

The youth rolled his eyes at his friend when his aunt began to rearrange the lapels on his tunic. He was dressed as a Matador, in a tight black jacket with golden trimmings around the front and hem, a little bow on the small of his back. The collar was high and stiff, jutting almost painfully into the skin on Eriol's neck, a lacy white tie spilling to lie just below his collarbone. The jacket ended at a point a couple of centimetres above his naval, a thin, snuggly cotton shirt peeking underneath. He wore skin tight black breeches (which was a very painful, and obviously so, fact) that clung to his every curve and ended at his knees, white stockings running from then on to black leather shoes. 

Eriol didn't seem able to escape the stares he received, he just wanted to die of embarrassment. He just felt so... naked, as if everyone at the ball would be able to look at him and single out his fears. He envied Syaoran and_ his_ costume. His friend was one of Dumas' Musketeers (d'Artagnan, he declared with a scowl). And though he, too, wore ridiculous tights, at least the blue front-to-back cape with a white cross covered Syaoran's private parts. 

"Now come, I want to show you someone," Nakuru said, _finally _satisfied with the appearance of his outfit. 

Both boys were dragged through the crowd by the zealous aunt, apologizing hastily to the people they accidentally rammed into. She stopped abruptly, hiding behind a faux Venus de Milo. "There," she whispered gesturing to an indiscernible spot on the dance floor. "On the dais." 

"Who? The lady dressed as Cleopatra?" Eriol whispered back, amused by the little game. 

"No, no. The slender man with pale hair and face, the one in mismatched clothes. The Mad Hatter," Nakuru hissed, irritated. "That's Lord Yukito Tsukishiro (people call him the Snow Prince), he's the proprietor of several hotel chains in France and our host tonight. If you get on his good graces, he will invite you again tomorrow."

"And that?" Asked Syaoran, also whispering. "Behind our host."

"The tall and dark one, the Black Knight?" Nakuru asked softly, sighing. "That's Touya Kinomoto. He's a local shop owner and pretty-boy extraordinaire! Rumour goes that him and the host are close friends, if not more, if you understand what I mean. They're nearly inseparable, incomplete without each other." She sighed again and continued. "Oh, look at his body. Isn't he gorgeous? What I wouldn't do for a piece of that." 

Her comments were lost on the two lords who had long since abandoned her in search of certain pretty damsels. And so, she continued to sigh and coo from behind her tree, wishing that it were she that received the handsome man's woeful glance instead of the Snow Prince. 

* * * * * * * * 

"Tomoyo! He's the most wonderful person on the face of the Earth!" Sakura exclaimed, swooning, imaginary stars and hearts dancing in her eyes. 

The two young ladies were standing off to the side, away from the main activity, hoping that they'd be able to escape Sonomi's shark-like eyes. Tomoyo was quietly brooding in the corner when Sakura came rushing to her, flushed and giddy. The raven-haired girl always thought that her friend had too much energy for her own good, surely too much for her to handle. At the same time, however, Tomoyo appreciated that energy, drew from it, savoured it. 

Sakura had met a beautiful boy last night, or so she said to her best friend. A certain 'Sir Syaoran Li'. The blonde couldn't go through the entire day without uttering his name, softly like a secret. Sakura even went as far as to seek him out during the masquerade, though not actually intending to talk to him. 

"Oh, he's so handsome and magnanimous!" Sakura gushed. "Oh, what I wouldn't do to be touched by him!" 

"Oh hush, Sakura. Don't be silly," Tomoyo said heaving a sigh. "Don't you remember what Mother has taught us? Men want nothing from us but our bodies and our money. All men are swine. Pigs, bred to make the lives of people like you and me miserable. If you give into them, they'll just use you and your fragile heart as a money -making machine and then after, when you have nothing more to give, they'll leave you penniless and alone."

"But, Tomoyo! Sir Syaoran is nothing like that!" Exclaimed Sakura, frowning. "He's kind and gentle. I know he is, I saw in his eyes!" 

"What you saw there was just him trying to charm you, to seduce you," Tomoyo stated coolly. "That's what they always do; look at you with pretty eyes and smile charmingly, call you 'beautiful' and that they knew they loved you from the first go. And then you, swooning, fall into their waiting arms, only to be used and abused. I'm telling you, Sakura, men have nothing on their minds besides sex and ways of making money."

"Pardon my interruption, fair maiden," a strong, masculine voice said, amused,"but I believe you owe me a dance."

Startled, she turned to face the intruder. It was he! A simper tugging at the corner of his lips, a cocky tilt to his head. He was, perfect, she opined a bit breathlessly. Tall and lithe in the dark costume, his pale skin and dark hair went well with the rest of his outfit. He seemed more confident now, the smirk stretched upon his lips a hint of his sheer prowess, his dark figure practically _luring_ her toward him. And the eyes, what she saw of them, were a deep sapphire blue, a shade she didn't know existed. Those orbs compelled her, drew her; there were promises in those eyes, dark and deep vows that screamed out and appealed to her. She wanted to find out what this man would give her, despite the risks, Tomoyo suddenly realized. 

"You didn't answer my request, Lady Tomoyo, so I came to find you for myself," he said, pressing a kiss into the palm of her hand. 

Wincing, Tomoyo pulled at her hand. Screw manners, he had no right to do that! Instead of letting go, the young lord tightened his hold on her hand. 

"Oh, no, you don't, sweet lady. I will not let you run away this time," he said, smiling, beginning to guide her to the dance floor. He turned to Sakura. "I beg for forgiveness, lady, but I must steal your friend for a dance." 

Sakura just nodded dumbly, not quite comprehending what was happening. Blinking, she saw her friend being led away by the strange man. 

"You must really forgive him, he knows not what he does," turning, Sakura saw the young man from yesterday – Sir Syaoran – removing the large hat with a singular white feather from atop his head and performing a an extravagant curtsy. "And I believe you, too, owe me a dance?" 

* * * * * * * * 

"You interrupted a very private conversation," Tomoyo hissed, desperately trying to pry his warm fingers from where they were entangled with her own. She couldn't believe that he caught her at such a compromising moment, saying things like that. And his hand had no right what so ever to feel so soft and warm! 

"As I had a right to. After all, you interrupted the flow of my life," he said with an airy smile, squeezing her hand on purpose. 

"If I did then I apologise," she ground out between clenched teeth. "Now will you please let me go?" 

"Never." 

"I don't even know you –" 

"Eriol Hiiragizawa," He said with another bow and kiss on her hand. "At your service, Lady Tomoyo."

The mini orchestra began to perform a fast-beat number, a single trumpet playing the intro before a flute and a violin joined in. With another carefree smile, Eriol brought his hands to Tomoyo's waist, despite her startled gasp of protest, and pulled her body closer. Expertly, he led her around the dance floor, his feet as if gliding, flying. 

Eriol thought that she looked simply divine in a simple vanilla-coloured dress, her long hair spilling along her back, and a blue sash around her waist. He thought their costumes were a bit ironic. He, a Matador, tall and slender, she, Esmeralda, fragile-looking and beautiful. He could almost pretend that they stepped out of the pages of history, two people completing one story. One part of another, a whole. 

As he held her, he lost all sense of reality. He forgot who he was and where; his brained ceasedfunctioning. Eriol felt oddly detached from the rest of his body, but simply... _there _at the same time. He felt a peculiar sensation of floating, of drifting through time and space and conscious thought, as well as the welcome warmth of shapely curves beneath his fingers. His vision was blurry and distorted, fragmented and scattered, a pale, doll-like face and raven-hair marring his mind. 

Everything felt like a wonderful, beautiful dream, though fleeting in nature. He wanted to touch the moment, to grasp it if he could, and savour it, greedily, within his hold. She was beautiful and everything around him was beautiful because of her, a flurry of light and colour and sound. He smiled wistfully, never wishing to leave his place beside her. 

Tomoyo could barely breathe. She couldn't believe she allowed a man to come so close to her, to touch her like so, but at the same time she welcomed his touch, wanted it. She forgot that she was in a public place, that a wall was separating her from everybody else in the room. It was an imaginary, invisible barrier made of ideal and thought and control. She was free from it in his – Eriol's – embrace, but not fully so. Now, more than ever, she felt her mask starkly cold against her face, harsh and unforgiving. She suddenly wanted to get rid of it, too. 

And she almost forgot about her mother, standing not too far away, chatting to the host. She was exposed, see-through to the entire world. 

"I told you that I'd catch up to you one day," Eriol whispered into her ear. Tomoyo shivered at the warm puff of air on her ear and along her nape. She really hated feeling so powerless in the hands of a man. 

(tbc) 

* * * * * * * *

This chapter's outfits have got to be my most favourite ones in the entire story. *Blush* I feel like a pervert... 


	8. Allegro

A/N: Yatta! I finally finished Kingdom Hearts, and I got the secret ending too!! Woo! Riku is so bloody gorgeous in the ending (*snort* ain't he always?)... and it's a teaser too.. *goes starry eyed* I think I'm in heaven.. 

* * * * * * * * 

****

Chapter 8: Allegro 

_Allegro:_ n. music_, in a lively, brisk, rapid manner. _

__

'I think I'm in heaven...' thought Sakura dreamily, sighing in contentment. 

Sir Syaoran had his strong arms wrapped around her, the embrace warm and comfortable, sending a thrill to run across her skin. She liked having him so close, it was both exiting and dangerous. Tomoyo said some enlightening things, but were they true? Sakura doubted that; she, despite everything that she was taught, wanted to believe that love was not just a myth. And here, encircled by Syaoran's – and here she blushed a fair shade of pink; she hadn't been so forward with a man before, hadn't had much experience with them – arms she desperately wanted it to be true.

For a moment, Sakura became oblivious to her surroundings. Syaoran's eyes on her were intense, piercing and yielding at the same time. Everything stopped for an instant and she had a sensation of drowning or falling; just lost in a surreal landscape but never wanting to find the way out. Maybe for the first time in a long while, Sakura felt safe and comfortable; such pleasures were not allowed to her. 

She wished that the dream would not end, she didn't want to wake up and find herself without the proverbial carriage and glass slippers; a maid. In truth, Sakura wasn't one of the rich, ostentatious snobs surrounding her. No, she shook her head bitterly. The petit girl worked as an attendant to Tomoyo, have been doing it since she was five, that was why the two were so close. Together through the tough and the pain, a saying went. At this moment, Sakura hated this more than anything. Why couldn't she be one of _them_? Why did she have to be born the way she was? How could she ever find happiness like this? 

And still, Syaoran's arms were warm and strong, dusting away her questions and smoothing out the frown that threatened to grace her lips. The blonde sighed softly, leaning into the embrace. 

"I find it ironic that my friend is quite taken by your friend," Syaoran said casually, though his throat was oddly tight. 

Sakura giggled melodiously, bringing a delicate hand to cover her mouth. "I've noticed. He's quite besotted, I must say." 

"You haven't seen the worst of it," said Syaoran with an annoyed huff and a glare at a mental picture of his friend (Sakura thought this made the youth look ridiculously cute and stifled another giggle). "Everywhere he goes, everything he does, Tomoyo this, Tomoyo that. Any worse and he'd be painting her name across the sky. It's bloody sick-making." 

"Oh? I think it's rather cute!" The girl squealed, smiling softly. "Just what Tomoyo needs." 

Syaoran snorted. "Unless he scares her away first. He'd been known to show lunatic tendencies."

"You're cruel!" Sakura laughed heartily, playfully slapping his upper arm.

The Little Wolf blushed a deep red, praying that the brim of his feathered hat and the golden lights in the room would conceal the hue. Gasping, Syaoran tightened his hold around her waist when her fingers instinctually laced through his chestnut locks, twiddling with the fair hairs on his nape. He shivered and fought down the crimson that spread along his cheeks – unsuccessfully. _'Gods she's beautiful...' _he thought distractedly. 

"Hey, you!" 

A voice broke through the thick fog that somehow settled on his brain. Looking up, Syaoran saw a dark, menacing shape approach them. 

"What do you think you're doing?!" The tall man boomed, furious, coming to stand between the two. 

Blinking back a scathing remark, the younger man said, "I'm having a dance with a pretty lady." 

The other growled deep in his throat, spitting out "Why you!" and aiming his fist toward the befuddled viscount. Before it could touch Syaoran's nose and do some heavy damage a pale, delicate hand stopped it. 

"Don't, Touya! He hasn't done anything wrong," Sakura said, crossing her arms over her chest, irritated. 

"But he's —" 

"Just dancing with me!" 

"Well I don't want him to!" 

"And who are you to tell me that?" Sakura asked, anger staining her cheeks. "I will dance with whomever I please, thank you very much. And I never asked you, Touya, what you wanted and not." 

"Sakura, be reasonable..." 

While the two were bickering, Syaoran tactfully escaped, blending into the small crowd that gathered around Sakura and "Touya". The tall man was good-looking, having a dark, mysterious aura around him. Sakura was the complete opposite; light and purity mixed into one being. The two contrasted so well, the youth couldn't help but make some meaningful connections. If she had to choose between himself (given his quirks, not a favourable option) and the dark man, the Little Wolf would not be able to stand a chance. 

Syaoran's chest hurt oddly, as if air had been sucked out from his lungs. He fought this sensation valorously, not understanding it, and stalked to a dark corner, where hopefully he'd be able to settle his feelings back to "cool", nonexistent. .

* * * * * * * * 

"Please let go of me," Tomoyo said quietly, scathingly, nearly stiff in Eriol's arms. 

Eriol looked at her. She was so cold, just like the mask on her face, unbreakable, impenetrable. He was hurt by the harsh retorts she kept sending his way every five minutes, and he was also saddened that she didn't enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. At the same time, however, he relished her harshness, he wanted to break the cold wall and unravel what would be held within. Perhaps is was the thrill of challenge – no one had ever resisted Eriol before – or maybe it was his sheer stubbornness, but he refused to give up until she was his. 

Grinning lopsidedly, Eriol said, "Never. I shall never let you go because the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you would be mine, as I would be yours." 

"Spare me the flowers and corn!" Tomoyo bit back, pushing back with her hands splayed along his chest. "I have no time for your lies!"

"Who said I was lying?" he whispered into her ear, pulling her toward him while she pushed away. 

"That's all you men are capable of," she hissed, miffed at how nice it felt to have so close, to feel his warm breath tickling her skin. 

Eriol let that one pass, he didn't want to get involved in a fight in the middle of the party; it would be in every gossip magazine by the morrow. Instinctually he felt that Tomoyo had good reason to think in such a way, and though it wounded him that she did, he wanted to show her that it wasn't true. It was like Tomoyo was buried underneath layers of self-imposed dogmas, so wrapped up in her cocoon, she couldn't see reason. _'No matter,'_ he thought to himself, determined, _'the harder she'll push, the harder I'll pull. I will show her the light.'_

Her eyes were hooded, shielded by the mask, the orbs seeming pieces of obsidian, piercing, captivating. He suddenly wanted to remove her mask, to see and study her face. A little annoying voice in his head told him now nice it would feel to study the visage with his lips, but he shoved it aside for more appropriate time to dwell on. But the mask was firmly in place, tied with in a neat blue bow at the back of her head. Eriol wondered why the mask was full instead of the customary half. A thought struck him that her face was horribly deformed, scarred beyond human likeness. Would he still like her if the assumption was true? 

Uncertainly, he brought his hands to her face. She flinched away, hissing a "Don't." The lord would have to have been deaf not to hear the hurt note in her voice. _'So there is something unusual behind that mask....'_

Eriol pulled her to a nearby doorway, leading out into the garden. The sky was a voluptuous ebony and silver (for the stars) tapestry, the hubbub of the partygoers joining the soft lull of the breeze. The porcelain mask on the girl's face was a cruel rendition of the moon, a wide, grinning mouth and slanted, empty eyes. It was eerie in a prophetic sort of way. 

"The music ended, now I must leave," Tomoyo stated coolly, turning away from him. 

"Why do you refuse me?" asked the young lord, grabbing a hold of her delicate hand. The appendage seemed too thin, even for someone as fragile-seeming as her. _'What is going on?'_ he opined. _'Why does she flinch from my touch, why is she so thin and ghostly pale? Why does she hate men?' _"I just want to make you feel comfortable." 

"I don't even know you —" Tomoyo started imperturbably, shivering slightly. 

"I told you, I am Eriol Hiiragizawa, the last remaining count in the Hiiragizawa family. I come from England, here on a getaway vacation. And am hopelessly smitten with you," he said in earnest, lacing his fingers through her oddly cold ones.

"Well I didn't ask you to be." 

Eriol noticed the almost imperceptible bumps along her skin and the smothered a shiver. Tomoyo's dress was a thin cotton that draped in soft pools at her feet, bright crimson sashes were slung around her waist, her shoulders bare. Even though it was summer and nights tended to be painfully hot, a cold breeze picked up and ruffled her hair and nape. Eriol made move to wrap his arms around her – purely for warming-up, his brain stated – but she, again, flinched away. 

"Aa, there you are, Tomoyo." Both youths turned their heads toward the intruder, startled. 

A tall, graceful Cleopatra stood in the doorway leading to the ballroom. She was donned in gold but resembled a frigid ice crystal. She glanced at the way his hand was interloped with Tomoyo's and he could swear he saw her nostrils flare in rage. 

"Come, we must leave," the woman said harshly, sneering at the young man from atop her angular nose. 

"Yes, Mother," Tomoyo almost whispered, lowering her head and hastily removing Eriol's hand from her own, following obediently after her mother.

Eriol watched, a bit thunderstruck, Tomoyo's retreating back. He saw her back stiffen and shoulders square off. She was a doll being led on an invisible string. Although her posture was strong and graceful, he noticed the fear, too. _'Something here is horribly wrong,'_ he told himself. _'For a moment, when Mrs. Daidouji looked at me, I saw hate there, raw and heedless. That woman terrified Tomoyo; I know she was, her grasp on my hand wouldn't have tightened to such an extent if it were otherwise, the fingers curling into my palm. It's like she wanted to coil into a tight little ball and pretend she wasn't really there, or for me to be the shell. What is going on?' _

Eriol sighed and sat down on the grass, bringing his arms to wrap around his knees. He knew that that wasn't something a man of his standing should do, much less in public, but for the moment he didn't care what people would say. He looked at dome of the sky, so high above. He closed his eyes, and for an instant, he felt a phantom shape mould itself into his side. Tomoyo's closeness was imprinted in his memory now, and so he couldn't possibly leave matters as they were. Besides, that would go against everything that he stood for; always help a damsel in distress. 

* * * * * * * * 

Next day, a few minutes past midday, Eriol stood in front of the large, vacuous Daidouji manor (he'd got the directions from Nakuru, solidifying that, indeed, the grey mansion was Tomoyo's home). The youth was known for his confidence (which earned him quite a few "egotistical" remarks from Syaoran), but now, he felt his nerves plummet to his stomach where they settled in a restless goo. He didn't even know what he was doing, whether he had completely lost his mind, but he had a dream that night and when he woke up, he immediately wanted to come here. 

Timidly almost, he opened the cast iron gates and walked purposely to the entrance. One, twice he knocked. Eriol waited, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. _'If no one answers in the next five minutes, I'm at liberty to run away,' _he promised himself, stealing a longing glance at the street beyond the gates, where sun seemed to shine. 

"May I help you?" The door opened after the fourth knock. Instead of the usual butler opening it, however, Sonomi Daidouji stood in the doorway. 

"Er... hello..." Eriol began intelligently. "May I please have a word with Miss Tomoyo?" 

The woman's eyes flared a steely blue; Eriol noticed how her umber-coloured hair was pulled tightly away from her forehead, tied in a bun at the back, and how her eyebrows seemed to arch menacingly over slanted eyes. She assessed for a long moment, mentally scanning his person for anything out of the ordinary, distrustful.

"I'm sorry, but no one by that name lives here," she stated coolly, beginning to close the door.

"Wait," Eriol brought his hand to stop her. "I saw Miss Tomoyo from the upstairs window a few days ago. Surely you're not telling me that that was a hallucination." 

Sonomi's lips stretched in a thin line and her eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible. "I am sorry, this person does not live here. In fact, I've never heard of them before in my life. Goodbye, Sir." 

With that, the heavy oak door was shut in front of his face. Eriol blinked a few times to get some reign on the situation. He was... baffled, to say the least. Clearly the woman lied through her teeth! She remembered him from last night and purposely lied! What game was she playing? Trying to hide from the rest of society – or the male population, at most? Angrily, which was also rather new to him, Eriol stalked past the gate and into the streets. 

When he was about to cross a bridge across the river, a hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Sir, I need to discuss something with you." 

Eriol turned to see a petit, dark blonde girl in a pale peach dress. The same girl that was with Tomoyo at the party, the one that Syaoran was ridiculously infatuated with. 

"My mistress, Miss Tomoyo, needs your help."

(tsuzuku...) 

* * * * * * * * 

I know, I know, this chapter is ridiculously late, but I've been stuck with a whole lot of assignments that I completely *forgot* about during Easter holidays. On top of that, I'm seriously trying to change my writing style (though not in an overly dramatic extent, more lightness, and in some instances darkness). 


	9. Dissonance

A/N: err... late, more than ever, I know. Did I die? Nearly. I had a lot of personal problems to sort through (I didn't want this story to have too much angst for one chapter). Also, I had to decide where I wanted to take this story; I've determined that it would be 14 chapters (with the last being the epilogue). 

* * * * * * * * 

****

Chapter 9: Dissonance

Dissonance: A simultaneous sounding of tones that produces a feeling of tension or unrest and a feeling that further resolution is needed. 

"What have I told you about men, Tomoyo?" Sonomi asked, sneering down at the girl on the floor. 

"I know Mother, I know," the raven-haired girl whispered brokenly, choking on every other syllable. "Men are bad. I can't let them near me or they will hurt me. I'm so sorry." 

"You're lying, you little slut!" The tall woman bellowed raising her hands as if to slap the girl. Tomoyo shied away, covering her face with her hands. She stifled another sob, knowing full well how her mother despised shows of weakness. "I've seen the way you were acting toward him." 

"B-but," Tomoyo stammered, biting her lip; her mother also didn't appreciate displays of disobedience. "We were just talking." 

"Don't lie to me, girl!" Her mother nearly shouted, her delicate nostrils flaring in rage. "I saw how you were all over him, like some common whore. Do you think I'm blind? He was – he was _touching_ you!" 

"I was cold, Mother, he was trying to warm me up," Tomoyo amended, fighting to keep a neutral note in her voice, though her knuckles were white from the tight grasp she had of her plain dress. 

"You _let_ him touch you!" The woman was near hysteria by now, an angry red staining her high cheekbones. "You could have turned away, slapped him, insulted him, but no! You purposely let him approach you, talk to you, dance with you and then lay his greasy, filthy hands on you!" 

Sonomi sighed deeply and dramatically, clasping her hands in front of her in a very motherly fashion. Looking at her daughter, who in turn was forced to look at her, the woman seemed almost compassionate, though there was a cruel edge to her jaw. "Oh, Tomoyo," she said melodramatically, shaking her head, "what am I going to do with you? I have taught you everything I know and I only want what's best for you. You know that I do everything for you. Oh, why can't you be a good little girl?" 

"I'm sorry, Mother," Tomoyo bowed her head, feeling oddly shamed. Her mother always had that sort of an effect on her. There were times when the woman would make ridiculous suggestions but expect them to be taken seriously, and Tomoyo always did, simply because she had no choice. She knew that she was just being toyed with, but given the limited freedoms that were granted to her, what could she possibly to otherwise?

"You would have to be disciplined then," another deep sigh escaped the woman's lips. "After supper, you are to go the Dark Room." 

"Yes, Mother," Tomoyo said obediently, dejectedly. Inside she wanted to scream or weep or die. She hated the Dark Room, feared it more than death itself. _'God,'_ she though, and even though she tried to tell herself that everything would end eventually, a ball rose to her throat. _'God, please, I'm so tired of this. I just want for this to end.' _

* * * * * * * * *

"She's changing." 

Sakura intoned beside him, looking at Eriol sideways, sparing him a tiny smile. The day was stifling; the breeze that blew over the water and onto the streets was humid and damp. The girl blew her light brown bangs out of her eyes, vexed that how no matter hard she tried the hair wouldn't stay put. 

Sakura's initial declaration of help startled the lord, made his heart leap to his throat and slow down a few beats. He had seen the girl a scant few times before, and always she was with Tomoyo. His Blue Bird – as he had taken to calling the Daidouji heiress – repelled his advances that one time, had, in fact, outright rejected him. So it came to him as a bit of a surprise and shock to be asked for help so frankly, though he had never intended to let the Blue Bird fly in the first place. 

The two were walking along the streets, carefully avoiding rolling cards and other passerbys. Eriol felt the sun beat down on him, dizzily, and he instinctually brought a hand to cover his eyes. 

"Tomoyo – your mistress – you mean?" Asked Eriol, sparing Sakura a glance – just to make sure that she was telling the truth. The dark-haired youth had a natural ability when distinguishing truths from lies, but it still helped to be prudent with his assumptions. 

"Hm," Sakura nodded. "I've known Tomoyo for many years now. Since we were five or so, I think; I can't even remember now," she smiled lightly, eyes glazing. "I her met one time in an ice cream parlour. My brother took me there for my birthday. We would dress up when we were young, you know, pretend that we were all grown up and such. She'd always be the quiet and reserved one; I'd always be the thorn in her side, constantly dragging her after me." 

Sakura was lost in memory lane now, Eriol realized though he didn't stop the flow of words. Perhaps, he reasoned, this would be his chance to find out more about Tomoyo. Lord knew he spent too much time as it was contemplating the deeper workings of the girl, without much success. He shrugged slightly. It wasn't as if she would willingly volunteer information to him, anyway. 

"The family hired me not a couple of months before the late Lord Daidouji passed away. I was supposed to be like a playmate to Tomoyo as well as handmaid, we were close friends by that time anyway. Tomoyo wasn't allowed to go outside much, still isn't. I don't really know why. And when her father passed away, things changed so much. She wasn't even allowed to look out windows without a veil over her face. She wasn't allowed to go outside at all, only on Sunday for church masses, and then she would be scolded if she looked directly at someone.

"Eventually she stopped acting like herself. I don't know how to explain it, but she became cold. It's like she's afraid to be anything else." Sakura sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "There used to be men – many of them. They would just come one day and leave with her and her mother wouldn't protest, like she usually would. I remember one was Antonio, a very handsome Spaniard. He had cornflake blond hair and eyes the colour of open ocean. He used to show up at the doorstep and then would disappear with my mistress, sometimes for days at a time. Tomoyo never told me what happened when they were gone, but she'd be so very quiet and pale when they came back.

I never knew what happened of him -- or the others. They just came one day and left, never to be heard of. And I never questioned it. There are certain things you don't ask about, and this was one of them. Besides, I was petrified of her mother." 

Eriol felt something resembling apprehension knotting in his stomach, and try as he might, the dread refused to leave. What Sakura told him was beginning to paint a dark, arcane tapestry, one that was tainted with secrets. He began to have an idea of why Tomoyo was so reserved, though that was no more than a nagging sensation at the back of his head. His brows furrowing, he let Sakura continue. 

"And then she'd also stay in her room and just look out the window. I didn't know what to do those times; she wouldn't even look at me, it's like she was asleep," Sakura frowned deeply, biting her lip in thought. "Then not to long ago, Mistress Sonomi let the two of us go to Carnival – it was our first time. It's the only time Tomoyo leaves the mansion, but I can still feel that – that something around her, like she's not fully awake, empty." 

Sakura let her words die, carried along with the breeze. Eriol looked at her profile, though he wasn't actually seeing her. No, his mind was somewhere else, wandering, battling with questions and riddles he couldn't understand. 

"That's quite a tale you've told me," he said after a long while, not wanting to let go of the moment just yet. 

"Yes," she whispered in return."That's why you must help her!" 

Almost automatically, his brows rose, his forehead crinkling with fine lines. "Why did you choose me?" 

She looked down at her feet, shuffling them almost uncomfortably. "Because I just... just... I don't know... But looking at you now, telling you all those things and from what I've heard from your friend – " here she blushed like a schoolgirl, which, in Eriol's opinion, made her look very endearing "– you're special. I can't quite say how though. Besides, ever since Tomoyo first saw you – was it three? Four days ago? – something's happening to her. She tries not to show it, but I can tell anyway." 

Eriol's eyes bugged out, but he resisted the urge to sputter. He'd caught her eye that long ago? She was thinking of him? Despite himself, a warm sensation spread over inside him, and he couldn't help but feel an odd boost to his ego. 

"She talks about me?" He asked, not really caring that he sounded like a kid wanting that rainbow lollipop from the store a block away. 

Sakura nodded, a small smile playing over her lips. "Not technically, more like accidental sayings. Things she murmurs to herself when she thinks she's alone." 

"Things like what?" _'Why can't keep the giddiness out of my voice? I used to be so composed,'_ he thought with a small frown. 

The girl broke into a full smile._ 'I knew it,' _she opined, _'I knew he was different from the rest. He cares.'_ "Oh, just little things," she answered with a shrug. "She's melting because of you, and that's why you – an only you – must save her. She's trapped –" 

"Trapped?" 

"Yes... no... I can't fully explain it, not now. It would be better if you heard it from her lips, I suppose." She stopped in her gait, seemingly unmindful of the throng of people busily moving about the two of them. She shook her head as if to clarify her mind, clasping her hands beseechingly in front, she looked at him with large emerald eyes. "Please, Sir, if you have even a shred of compassion, answer my plea: help her." 

Eriol looked incredulously at the girl, fidgeting slightly under the full force of large, liquid eyes. He had no reason to question her, but neither could he easily believe her. The things she told him, whether she was supposed to or not, made him want to raise his fist into the air as generations of males did before him and protect the beautiful heroin. And there was that ache, too, the one that he came to associate with the raven-haired beauty. But was that bubbly, manly sensation inside his heart reason enough to do – to promise – something so rush? Would Tomoyo be worthy enough in the end? Would the end be worthy enough without Tomoyo? 

"All right," he began with a little sigh; whatever happened, would decide the rest of his life, "I don't know what simple promises can achieve, and I don't even know if I'll be able to keep them, but then, for the sake of Tomoyo, let me promise you this: I'll save her. According to what you've told me, her wings are already losing their splendour, so when she falls from grace, I'll be there to catch and rescue her." 

Sakura nodded approvingly, her smile seemingly dulling the bright rays of the sun as they touched the crystalline water. She fell into step with him, smiling all the while. The two of them walked along the peer and eventually had to separate because the evening was drawing closer and costumed characters were beginning to wander into the streets. 

Sakura smiled up at him for the last time. "Thank you, Sir Eriol, for... everything. I know that you only have my Mistress' happiness in mind." 

He nodded with a small smile of his own, the tips of his ears colouring. 

"And will you relate to your friend – Si-Sir Syaoran – that I'm sorry for my brother's behaviour yesterday," she finished, glaring at the memory of yesterday's night. 

"Brother?" Eriol asked, brow raised inquisitively. 

"Yes," she replied with an annoyed huff. "Touya. That meanie, doesn't understand the concept of leaving me alone. Always barging into my business." 

"Oh, sure, I'll give your message to him," Eriol said. Inside, however, he was jumping with barely contained glee. The night before, after his own rendezvous with Tomoyo, he'd met up with Syaoran, who was moodier than ever. Upon much pestering, Eriol discovered, much to his sweet (and slightly sadistic) delight, that his friend was agitated over Sakura, who was seen with an older and "handsomer" man. Of course Syaoran, dense as he was, (stupidly) mistook the man for the lady's spouse, who clearly was her brother. 

And so, feeling oddly cheerful about this new turn of events concerning his friend and the day's revelations, Eriol bid farewell to Sakura and walked back home to prepare for the rest of the night. 

* * * * * * * * 

Hours, or maybe days later, Tomoyo opened her eyes to darkness. It was an overwhelming, nothingness, cold and harsh and strangely welcoming. The air seemed dead, acrid and having a filthy quality to it. There was silence, too; it was so quiet, she could distinguish her every breath, every movement had suddenly gained a threatening ambience. She came to associate this void with the Dark Room. 

She signed, hating how much the action stung her throat. The wall against which she sat was cold and slimy, the wetness seeping through her gauzy dress. Her eyes were dry in the corners, itching irritably but she was afraid to rub at them. Every action seemed forbidden in this room. Everything was too foreign and frightening. Whenever she would close her eyes, she would start to see shapes, illusionary and omnipotent, looming around her, their sightless eyes peering at her. And then she would begin to feel their breathy hands upon her, brushing feather-like against her dress, touching her hair and face. 

Tomoyo pinched her eyes tightly, her nails digging into the palm of her hands. She didn't eat supper that evening after all; she never did whenever she was sent to the Dark Room. If she had s full stomach, she'd vomit it later anyway, when the darkness became too much, and then she'd have to endure the bile taste in her mouth until the end of her punishment. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience in any case. 

She tried calling for help when she was younger, but that was a fruitless attempt. She knew that there wouldn't be anyone behind the door that was hidden somewhere in the darkness. She was completely alone, the monsters in the dark would creep around her and still she was alone, solitary, single entity. She'd bite her lip until it was a large, swollen bruise and pray that Sandman would come to claim her. Sleep would at least save her from the ache.

Tomoyo knew that she didn't do anything wrong, but it was so hard to tell after such a long while. And soon, painful thoughts started flitting into her head and there was a metallic taste in her mouth. She laid her head on her knees, wrapping her arms around her. Softly, she began to sing to herself, the words old and forgotten, the tune awkward on her lips. Like this, she didn't feel the darkness as strongly, like this she didn't feel the dull throbbing inside. 

And still the shadows, darker than the nothingness around her, danced in a horrible imitation of a Venetian Waltz. And she could still feel them twisting in her hair and the stinging, tingling sensation in her oddly frozen cheeks. 

(tsuzuku...) 

* * * * * * * * * 

Aa... Next chapter will finally reveal what's hidden behind Tomoyo's mask (or at least that's what I have planned). Another thing, if anybody wants me to either e-mail them about fic updates (which I'll make sure come at a faster rate) or entire chapter, you can request so via review button ^^ Though I'd still appreciate it very much if you sent me your comments, I live on them, after all. 


	10. Rhapsody

A/N: Thankies so much to everyone who reviewed (seriously, I dunno if I'd have the energy in me to continue if it weren't for you nice, nice people ;___; ) Hopefully I'm on the right track....

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Chapter 10: Rhapsody

_Rhapsody: n, freely structured emotional piece of music. _

"How do I look?" Eriol asked, tugging on his lace-trimmed collar. 

"As good as you ever can," replied Syaoran, blowing away the renegade bangs out of his eyes. 

"Are you implying something?" The raven-haired youth smirked, glad for his friend's almost uncanny sense of humour; oddly enough, Syaoran had none, but made him laugh in any case. 

"Not anything more than usual," stated the Little Wolf, stifling his own lopsided grin. "Seriously, I'm beginning to doubt your actual age, with the way you're acting. This girl has you hook around her dainty little finger, hasn't she?" 

The viscount nodded shamefully. "She has captured me, ensnared me in her cage. And I went willingly, I wanted to be caught by her. I can't stop thinking about her; it seems as if I live only for her. Every moment I'm awake, I'm thinking of her, and in every dream, she plagues me." Eriol chucked lightly, harshly almost. "It's funny. I wanted to catch her because she mesmerized me with that one glance, and instead, she was the one who captured me." He paused, debating with himself – should he have said that? Did he say enough? "You, Syaoran, are my closest and dearest friend. You grew up alongside me, and thus you know me best... What should I do?" 

It was a fruitless plea; Syaoran knew less about the matters of the heart than a common housewife knew about the fine mechanics of soldering irons. But still, Eriol felt some sort of reassurance when knowing that his best friend was there for him, though not necessarily helping. He was comforted with the thought that, should he ever feel like it, he could always rely on Syaoran. 

The Little Wolf lay a comforting hand on Eriol's shoulder, squeezing it lightly before letting go. "This is some heavy business you've gotten yourself into, that heart of yours. I can't give you any advice, and I can't tell you how to solve your problem, but I can tell you that everything will be resolved with time." 

Eriol grinned at his friend; the smile was like Cheshire Cat's, the same one he used whenever he didn't want people to know what he was thinking. It was a defence mechanism of sorts. "Thanks, Syaoran, I didn't think you had enough compassion to even do that much." 

"Ha ha," replied his friend, though he, too, was smiling. 

"Seriously, how do I look?" Eriol asked again, trying to smooth out the imaginary wrinkles on his vest. 

"Very... charming," replied Syaoran, raising a brow at the other's costume. "Like Juliet, she'll fall, swooning, into the arms of her Romeo." 

Eriol ignored the (innocent?) jest. Ironically enough, he was dressed as Tybalt, the Prince of Cats, with two-toned tights and several layers of billowy shirts that felt too restricting and fell just low enough to conceal his private parts. Syaoran, however, kept on insisting that he was Romeo – "Oh, Romeo! Romeo! Where for art thou Romeo?" He exclaimed dramatically when Nakuru demanded he parade the outfit. 

"If you don't stop fussing over your appearance, she'll whither and blow away after such a long time waiting," Syaoran reminded him. "Go, go, Lover Boy, find your pretty lady." 

"Yes, yes," said Eriol and after a final breath, like the one a dead man takes before an execution, he moved into the throng of people. 

"Don't be too eager!" He heard his friend calling after him and Eriol relaxed slightly. 

His insides were jumping, like something alien had invaded his innards, his stomach in particular, and refused to leave. He'd been waiting for this moment all evening, longer – a lifetime – it seemed. Sakura had approached him earlier at the masquerade, steering him aside and brusquely whispering a plan. She had arranged for Tomoyo to meet him in a broken-down gazebo not too far off the main mansion. The girl also implored that he do this meeting as discreetly as possible, secrecy was of outmost importance. 

And so, Eriol found himself walking across the slightly moist grass plain and among apple trees. The soles of his slippered feet were getting wet, his tights darkening where the nightly dew touched, but he didn't really notice, the moment was too surreal to care about such little details. There was music behind him and he thought that made the scene slightly eerie; the moon watching, cold, from up above, dark shapes menacing over him and oddly happy, laughing almost, music behind him. 

But that all became background information when he reached the gazebo. Tomoyo stood in the centre of it, framed by carved wood and hanging vines. Her back was turned to him, so Eriol only saw her shoulders poised rigidly and hair cascading down her back like when the night sky touched the surface of the water. Her form seemed almost ghostly in a shimmer-y white dress, the colour of it slightly altering with the moving shadows. 

"God..." Eriol managed to breathe out, the word coming off his lips as both a prayer and an oath would. 

Tomoyo whirled around to face him, startled. 

"You!" She exclaimed, backing off from him. "What are you doing here?" 

He stepped onto the gazebo and immediately the outside world and everything else it heralded disappeared."I was told that I would meet my destiny here." He mentally cringed at the cliché. 

"And I was told that I must discuss something very important with a friend," she returned scathingly. Inside, she reeled. She wasn't expecting him to be the "friend" Sakura mentioned, she didn't want to see him. He stood for more than she was accustomed to, like freedom and wanton actions and righteousness and fearlessness. He scared her, in a sense. So many things he had that she didn't, so many things he didn't know that she could teach him. She was like one part, blind to the world and its beauties, and he was the other, blind to world's pains. 

"Then I'm in the right place." He said with a small smile and Tomoyo suddenly found herself envying that smile. How could he do that so freely? To give away such simple yet monumental gestures without heed; to be so careless was very new to her. "You're the one I had to find." 

She moved farther away from him, backing up until her heels touched a decaying bench. He was too close; she could feel him, warm and alive, so very different from the coldness that she was used to. 

"Why must you joke like this?" She bit her tongue, unsure whether she was as angry as she sounded. 

"Joking about what?" Eriol frowned. "That you're the one I was looking for or that I finally found you?" 

"Both... neither." Tomoyo couldn't remember why she was acting like this, why she tried so hard to push away when he wasn't even doing anything. "Stop playing." 

"I'm not." 

"What do you wish of me, Sir?" She asked coldly. "To play with me? To be infatuated with my face and body? To use me, pull by strings and then, when you grow tired of me, throw me away?" Tomoyo spit out harshly, balling her fists at her sides. Her voice was bitter and vile, but underneath the surface, there could have also been pain and sadness. 

"I want no such things from you," Eriol replied roughly, wincing. "I want to maybe hold your hand, to touch your hair and kiss you goodnight and good morning. I want to see you smile and to hear your laugh..." 

Quite suddenly, he took her smaller hand in his, palm facing upward. Tomoyo sucked in a breath when she felt him tracing imaginary patterns in the centre of her palm, his calloused finger delicate against her soft skin, tickling slightly. He blew a puff of air on the same spot and brought it to his lips, placing a small kiss there. Tomoyo could not think clearly enough to move, to shove him away, and to breathe. 

"I can read fortune," he whispered softly, almost melancholy-like; she wondered whether he was as transparent as she thought. "Yours says that you will live long and in happiness. It says that you'll be blessed with a happy family, adoring children, a husband who worships you. Also that you're very beautiful, and will stay so for all eternity, that you're wonderful and magical." 

His fingers had moved from her palm to the cold mask; she had almost forgotten it. 

"Sir..." 

"Eriol."

"Eriol... Don't, please don't – just don't. You can't understand –"

"Then let me see, show me what I can't understand. Teach me to understand." 

His voice was earnest, a deep rumble resonating from his throat and moving to escape his lips, almost like melted chocolate. She found herself nodding. 

He reached almost tentative hands to her face, fingers brushing against cold porcelain, testing, probing how far he could take things. Tomoyo was trembling, her heart flopping in her chest. She wanted this, had been wanting this for a while, she realized; she wanted somebody to see her, the real her, not the warped rendition of a doll. But still, she was afraid. What would he think of her?

Eriol moved his hands behind her head, where the cold porcelain visage was tied with a blue silk ribbon. Slowly, almost fearfully, Eriol pulled on one end of the ribbon. The silk came loose almost instantly, slipping through his fingers and onto the ground. The mask, too, fell heedlessly to the ground, shattering ominously to a thousand little pieces. Along with the mask, something else broke as well. 

The two stood there, bathed in moonlight and silence, completely entranced in each other. Eriol couldn't look away. Absent -mindedly he noted that, like the fortune said, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She had a pale, heart-shaped face with eyes the colour of raw amethysts; she was utterly perfect, he thought. 

Looking closer, Eriol noticed a tiny mark just below her right eye. It was less than five millimetres long and was almost white, blending in with her natural skin tone. He touched the mark with his thumb. Frowning slightly, he noticed a similar mark on her cheek and just below her lips. He was startled to realize that her entire face was covered with these tiny markings, like some horrible pattern. 

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, chewing on his lip. Already many scenarios were forming in his mind, each making his stomach lurch. 

"I... I wanted to take it off... the face wouldn't come off," She replied in a near whisper. 

"You did this?" Eriol's voice was hoarse. "How? Why?" 

Tomoyo swallowed nervously. She was naked now, exposed to him, she had to be careful. "Because... because there's this dark room, and it's very silent and scary and I can see the shadows coming at me. They'd try to get me, they touch my face, they want me to take it off. Mother said that everything's because of my face. I tried to take it off, but I can't..." 

"Oh, God," Eriol whispered. It pained him to know that she hurt herself, even if scared; touching her face like this, hearing her voice so small and broken, he could feel her fear and pain. "Why do you have to wear that mask? To hide the marks?" 

"My mother she... she says I need to wear it. She says I'm ugly, that I need to be hidden from the rest of the world because if I'm not, then they'll hate me and laugh at me. She says I look horrible, like a whore. She only wants to protect me." 

"You're beautiful." Eriol clenched his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek. He felt like he could kill the woman who caused this. 

"T-the scars, don't you mind them?" 

"Scars? What scars?" He asked, brushing his thumb against a faint white line. "All I see is a beautiful face. I see large, jewel eyes, so very dark and deep. I see a small, perky nose, and luscious rosy lips. I see the shadow of a dimple in the corner of your mouth and a faint dusting of pink across your cheeks. I see no scars, only you." 

"B-but I'm hideous! I'm a monster a freak! I'm a —" 

"Shh," he soothed, pressing her body flush against his and brushing his lips against her forehead. "You are Tomoyo Daidouji, my Blue Bird. You are the one that managed to catch me, and I refuse to let you go, or to be let go, now that I'm in your cage. You are beautiful and will forever remain so, you hear me." 

Tomoyo nodded. She could feel moisture gather behind her eyes. It had been a long time since she cried in front of other people, it has been a long time since anybody dared to come this close to her. She was afraid that this... this dream, this whatever it was would disappear and she would be left alone again, sitting propped up against a dark wall, trying to escape the silence. She didn't want Eriol to let go, especially not now that she let him in. So she clung to him. 

And he still held her, pressing her face into his shoulder while the silent tears ran down her cheeks and while he fought down his own. 

"Sometimes I would wake up and think is this real?" Tomoyo said quietly after a long time. "Things are always the same, always the coldness and laughter and people gawking at me and ... pain. Everyday it's the same thing, over and over again. I can't even tell any more whether this is just one big nightmare and I keep on waking to feel the pain and then only to fall asleep and dream of it again." 

"Pain?" Eriol looked at her, startled. "More pain? What kind?" 

"T-they'd come to me," the girl stuttered quietly, ashamed. 

"They?" 

"There were men, so many of them." Tomoyo choked and looked away. "They'd come to my house, looking for me. They said they wanted to be my friends, wanted to play with me. They'd take me with them to their houses or... someplace else, I can't remember. We'd play games like tag and skip rope. And then they'd say that they loved me and would give me envelopes to give to Mother. And... and I'd have to do things for them, say... things and touch them in places... I was so scared..." 

"Oh, God! Tomoyo!" Eriol exclaimed, choking on her name. He cupped her face with his hands and traced the little white marks with his thumbs. "My dear, dear Tomoyo." The lord whispered before he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. 

He couldn't believe the things she told him, wouldn't have believed them if he hadn't seen the tiny scars, from her fingernails, he figured, and the obvious pain in her eyes. His heart hurt. She hid everything; she purposely was cruel to him so he wouldn't notice anything. She was afraid of him, like she was of those men. He breathed in deeply and pulled her in closer; he didn't want to be like those men, he didn't want her to be afraid of him. 

"Oh, Lord, Tomoyo, what has been done to you..."

(tsuzuku...)

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By the way, just so you know, Tomoyo is dressed as Morgan Le Fay. 


	11. Fugue

A/N: I'm sorry if you think that the chapters are coming out too slowly, I think so, too. But it's almost the end of the school year and I have a) exams coming up b) two huge murals due in two weeks (that are barely even begun) and c) a whole bunch of essays. Seriously, I'll try to write faster, I'll even force myself to go to sleep at hellish hours of the night if I have to... 

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Chapter 11: Fugue

_Fugue: _n_. musical composition in which a theme is repeated in different parts._

Syaoran watched as his friend moved farther and farther away from him, disappearing behind a sea of people. He could see the awkward stiffness in Eriol's back, a clear indication of either nervousness or barely masked fear. He grinned mentally. It was rare to see the dark-haired viscount as anything but his usual composed self. For him to be acting so out of character the world must have changed axes and the sky became green. And why? Because of a single entity that was capable of breaking down every wall one erected with a mere glance, a touch and a soft word. In other words, a girl. Everything changed when a girl came into the equation. 

Despite the smirk, Syaoran was a bit envious, too. He was glad that Eriol was finally moving on, leaving his past and striding toward the future. The Little Wolf was elated that his friend found his pool of happiness, granted that he made it through the barriers intact. But a little part of him, a tiny, squeal-y voice in the back of his head said that he was jealous. How come it was Eriol and not himself that found that "special one"? Why was Eriol always with the best of luck – concerning everything from looks, to fortune, to women? For once, he wanted it. He wanted to be the one to walk out of that room and to a secret rendezvous with a female consort and he wanted that freedom, too. 

Immediately after thinking this, Syaoran felt ashamed and ducked his head to stare at his pointed-toed boots. What right did he have to think that way? Eriol was his friend, had been since forever. Friends did not feel envious of each other, especially not over something as trivial as this. Which made him wonder, what kind of a friend was _he_? _'Besides which,'_ he opined, _'from what I've heard of the conversation between Sakura and him, I should not be wanting to be in his shoes. I just hope_ he_ can manage through it with no less than his heart intact.' _

"I wish them all the best, don't you?" 

A soft voice inquired from his side. Startled, he looked up to a sweetly smiling Sakura dressed in rich emerald dress, a golden crown adorning her head. At his attention, the corners of the girl's lips quirked up, completing the smile. Syaoran turned hastily away, an embarrassed flush tinting his ears and spreading to his cheeks. He didn't even hear her approach – and he was known for his excellent hearing and observation skills – which meant that she must have either appeared from nothing or walked on air. 

"Yes, I do," he replied, though after a well deserved pause (he needed it to put the blush under control). 

"I hope she'll be okay," Sakura intoned. "I want for her to be happy, and I know that your friend, Sir Eriol, will be able to give her that happiness." 

Syaoran glanced at her, his eyes concealed by his chestnut mane, studying her face. Her smile had faded, became dull, but the effect still lingered. Looking at her, he could tell that she wore her heart on her sleeve – it was a very big, beautiful heart. Instinctively, Syaoran knew that Sakura was the type of person who cared more about others than herself. Somehow, he thought, that added to that certain something she seemed to exude, made her... so much more special than he could fathom. 

She shrugged, as if trying to ignore something nagging at her side. "Tomoyo has lived such a hard life... seen and been through so much, I guess she deserves this bit of joy."

"Hn." Syaoran grunted in reply. 

By now, he seized a hold of her hand and was steering her toward the dance floor. She didn't protest in the slightest, in fact, the motion seemed so very natural to her. To be with him, so share the same air as he, brought a sense of security to her. The music was a nice soft orchestral piece, the murmur of the other guests adding a pleasant lull. His hand snaked to her slim waist, the other holding her gloved hand. Sakura placed her free hand on his shoulder, sealing a bond that neither knew was there. 

There was something warm and squishy in Syaoran's stomach. He swallowed past a ball forming in his throat. "Do you think it's selfish to want something – _someone _– so badly, but knowing you can't have it and then purposely withholding, or hiding, your desire from that someone?" 

"No, I don't think that's selfish." Sakura replied with a shake of her head. "If you want something, then you should do anything, everything, you possibly can to get it. If you're afraid to get it, then that doesn't make you selfish, only cowardly." 

The knot tightened. Syaoran felt a bit dizzy from her proximity, from the welcome heat seeping off her and to him, from the music and lights and colours. He still had questions though; they were crowding his head. 

"Every time I see you, all you talk about is Tomoyo. She is everything to you. Why?" Syaoran was ecstatic when Eriol told him about Touya, but now that he thought more deeply about it, other things began nagging at him. 

"Yes," Sakura answered in a breathy voice, "Tomoyo is everything to me. She's practically the only thing I've known while growing up. She's always been there for me; when I needed protection, she offered it to me; when I needed to cry, she gave me her shoulder and her lace kerchief. She was the sister I needed while growing up, so I guess this is my way of repaying her. I don't have much else to offer her, so I'll make sure she at least has joy in her life." 

Syaoran nodded; he knew without a doubt that she told the truth. He had no words to describe how he felt at that moment, blinded by something he couldn't quite discern – maybe Sakura's own light.

The music was changing to a fast number now, the couples on the floor disbanding and finding each other again. Sakura removed her hand from where it previously lay dormant, grazing over his nape once in a while. She tugged on her other hand, still trapped in Syaoran's. 

A goofy grin spread across his lips. "I grow jealous, you know. You've spent nearly entire day with Eriol, and yet you cannot spare a moment for me? Why are you so eager to leave my side?"

The girl squawked when out of a sudden he brought their bodies flush against each other. "S-sir..." 

Her eyes were impossibly huge; _'green,'_ he thought bemusedly_, 'a very startling green.' _The lord gazed at her almost tenderly, which made her stomach feel like jelly; his eyes became darker when he looked like that, nearly a chocolate colour. Syaoran knew that she was probably going to say something stupid, as he had a tendency to whenever there wasn't a black-on-white speech prepared beforehand, but at that moment he didn't really care. 

"No, please, don't leave me yet Sakura. Tell me, are you afraid of me?" His voice was throaty, almost husky with plea. 

"No, of course not!" 

"Then why do you abhor my company?" 

She looked away, a dusty rose staining her cheeks. "I... I don't think I'm enough for you." 

The youth brought a hand to her face, gently tracing her cheek. "Why?" Did he really sound hurt? Was that truly pain lingering in his eyes?

"Because... because I'm just a servant. I'm not rich, or famous, or anything. I clean houses and serve food and mend clothes, I don't hold parties like these –" she spread her arms wide to indicate the lavish room "– and I don't have enough money even if I did wanted to have a ball. I have to rely on my good friend for such expensive treatment, and that's only because we're nearly sisters. My brother has to work two or three jobs at a time so he can get enough money to give me schooling. I'm ... I'm just a no-body...

"And you..." she sighed, "... you are like a god. You have everything. You have money and connections and can hold parties and wear expensive clothes. You can wear masks made of precious jewels and pretend to be some one else because you can afford it – I can't. I need to have these types of jobs or I'll be spending my life on the streets. Do you understand now, Sir Syaoran? You, a count from a distant, beautiful land, and me, a handmaid without a proper name, without anything... the two do not go together well." 

Sakura's voice was frantic-sounding and maybe just a bit destitute, and he noted that she must have had a ball lodged somewhere there, too. Her hands shook slightly, so he grasped them in his own, holding them still. 

"You didn't have to tell me, I already knew," he said. "Eriol told me. But — is that all? You being a common worker, I mean?" 

Uncertainly biting her lip, she nodded. 

"You honestly thought that I would care about your monetary status? You thought that I only cared about money and looks and having a - a- a wife I could buy? No, Sakura, no. I don't care what you are; I don't care where you stand in society as long as you stand by me." With his thumb, the boy wiped off the tears that were beginning to gather in the corners of her mind. "Besides, I already know that you are a very beautiful person. You don't care about yourself, you'd do everything for those you love, you're wonderful and generous and kind and... _everything_. God, I would gladly die for you, would give away all my fortune for the opportunity to spend a lifetime drawing you, being with you, sharing your breath..." 

The tears, though he tried to wipe them away, escaped anyway, the fine crystal-like blobs sliding over her cheeks and lips. Again, using his thumb, Syaoran brushed the tears away, the digit stalling on her lush bottom lip. 

"...May I?" He breathed out, seeing everything as if through a dream and yet too vividly for it to be so. 

The girl shivered as his warm breath brushed against her lips. Wordlessly, Sakura nodded. And daringly, Syaoran brought his lips to hers. He had the distinct impression of something – a door perhaps, or a key – being sealed. _'This,'_ he thought when her lips started to move against his own, the acting sending a pleasant tingling sensation down his back, _'is how things should be, forever.'_ And oddly enough, he no longer had a reason to be jealous of his friend. 

* * * * * * * * 

That night, Eriol got less sleep than on that fateful day nearly three years ago. It still pained him to think of what used to be, of what _he_ used to be, and know that he was powerless to do anything edgewise. He had tossed and tuned throughout the night, eventually throwing off the silk sheets, being half sprawled on the bed, half dangling to the floor. He would feel sweat coat his body with a faint layer and he constantly needed to turn the pillow over. Looking out the window, Eriol fancied he saw the sun's morning rays tickle the still dark sky; and yet, the laugher from a night of celebration hasn't died down. 

His tryst with Tomoyo was more fruitful than he expected it to be. On one hand he finally captured the Blue Bird, on the other, he had gained a powerful enemy – her mother. Eriol could still remember Tomoyo's body, so small and fragile-like as it clung to him, her hands twined in his hair and shirt, sobbing quietly. He vividly remembered her fright; the pain he saw in her eyes that he felt sure was mirrored in his. He still felt white-hot rage boil through his veins, he still wanted to go out and pound some bastard to the dust – but his gentlemanly manners forbade him. And he remembered how soft her skin felt against his lips.

And then Sakura ran out to them from the mansion, breathless and panicky, declaring that Daidouji Sonomi demanded her daughter's presence. Obligingly, though with a tiny strangled cry, Tomoyo followed with Sakura, holding on to his hand until he promised that they'd see each other shortly thereafter. A nervous ball decided to settle in his bowels, his muscles twitching with suppressed rage. What would that woman do to Tomoyo? The porcelain mask lay shattered on the floor; its hundred tiny pieces gleaming at him. Surely Sonomi would notice something was amiss, surely Tomoyo would be inflicted with some sort of punishment. 

At the memory of what was done to his precious, Eriol gripped his sheets tighter, tearing into the soft material. No one deserved to be treated that way – like some sort of animal, not only to be viewed and purchased but also used in such a degrading manner. He didn't know what kind of a human being Daidouji Sonomi was, but at that moment, he despised her more than he could describe. 

Later that evening, when the threesome consisting of Eriol, his best friend and Aunt headed home (the former two of the three were either seething or too anxious) a message was delivered to the viscount via a street rat in frayed clothes. 

__

'Never touche my daughter again, never come near her or even think of her. She's mine, she belongs only with me and only to me.' 

He didn't need the name of the sender to know it was from that ... that wretched woman (here he had to bite down on his pillow in order to contain a cry of outrage). 

"Oh what have I drawn myself into?" He asked the night, and as if in answer, somebody somewhere laughed throatily. 

Sighing, Eriol removed the covers and stalked to the open window. The sky was considerably lighter, which meant that he had been awake for quite some time. A dusty, ugly almost, periwinkle blended in with deep charcoal. The many roofs of the city stood out darkly against the horizon like sharply peaked mountains; a couple of windows still held light, indication of the previous night. He felt as if the world at that moment was a painting and he the artist. With one stroke of the brush, he could destroy the image, with another stroke he could add to it, make it – and himself – even more beautiful. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the heavy mahogany door. Turning slightly, he commanded the newcomer in. 

"Master?" Came Spinel, looking odd dressed in his uniform so early in the morning. "You're awake, Master Eriol."

Eriol grinned lightly, glad for the portly housekeeper's company. "I can see that, Spinel." 

"Is anything the matter, Master Eriol?"

"Drop the formalities, Spinel, you've known me long enough for me to consider you my father or uncle – which I do. And, no, nothing is wrong, I just needed some time to think." Never mind the fact that he could think whenever he wanted to if he so pleased. 

"Well, then.. Eriol," the youth could tell the term felt awkward coming from the servant's mouth and smiled at that, "there is a young lady in the parlour. She says she's a friend of yours and has the solution to your problem. Should I let her stay and prepare tea or show her to the door?"

Eriol felt his jaw go askew. Spinel could only be referring to Sakura, he had to, there wasn't anybody he knew in Venice. Just that the declaration had come so suddenly, the lord felt a bit baffled. "Of course let her stay, and put some jasmine tea on. Oh, and tell her I'd be there shortly." 

"Yes... Eriol."

With that, Spinel bowed politely and left, closing the door in the process. Eriol spared one last glance outside before reaching for his discarded shirt and trousers. He had company and a very beautiful Blue Bird to save. 

(tsuzuku...)

* * * * * * * * 

Note on the costumes: Tomoyo – Morgan Le Fay; Eriol – Verona lad (aka Romeo); Sakura – Lady Gwenhyfar; Syaoran – Merlin (the sexier version of).

Sorry for the lack of ExT, but I felt that SxS deserved some attention, too. (Now I just need to get back to my scheduled programming *wince*) 


	12. Grave

A/N: Sorry I've taken a mini (and completely uncalled for) hiatus concerning this fic. I've had my exams and some... personal problems... I had to wade through. I didn't want anything too heavy on the angst scale in this fic, so... But now I have time, all I want in the world. 

* * * * * * * *

****

Chapter 12: Grave

Grave: _music,_ n., _heavy, slow and ponderous in movement._

Sakura fidgeted a bit while she sat in the parlour of the Akizuki villa. Everything in the room screamed money – the walls were a soft cream colour, with many landscapes and expensive-looking tidbits hanging, the carpet had an antique Persian design. Even the chair she was sitting on was upholstered in rich red velvet with gilded handles. Sakura didn't have this sort of luxury while she was growing up. Her father was somewhere in Turkey doing research for what she assumed was archaeological studies. The girl's mother died when she was still a babe, so only precious little mementos remained to remind her of the beautiful woman. So Sakura was left with only her brother, bless his soul. 

They never had much money because it was just the two of them. Touya had to take on several jobs, and when she was old enough she got herself one, too, so she wouldn't feel as useless when it came to monetary problems. There were times when she was growing up that there wasn't enough food on the table, or not enough money to buy decent food; the clothes she wore were either bought at second-hand stores or made especially for her by Tomoyo. Tomoyo herself wasn't that rich, wealthy, yes, but mainly in inheritance. Thus it came to her as a bit of a shock to find herself in such an expensive environment. 

She glanced down into the soft brown of her Indian tea, served to her by the portly butler. It felt odd, in a sense, because she grew up despising the rich class, and yet she was also drawn to it. Her face warmed up when she thought of Syaoran, who she knew slept in this same house, maybe only several layers of plaster away. She took a sip of her tea in hopes of disbanding such thoughts. They were completely uncalled for and un-lady like, and surely much scorned by her brother. Sakura giggled at the prospect of seeing the look on Touya's face when he found out that a count – she still couldn't believe it herself; Lord Syaoran was too humble to be a count – was courting her, especially since he hated the mentioned count. 

It wouldn't work, she knew, because they belonged to different classes. But then, Syaoran had also said that he didn't care for money or status, just her. So maybe things would work out, maybe she would get to live out that fantasy of castles and charming princes like she had when she was little. 

But now Tomoyo was more important. Tomoyo was the princess in this case, trapped in a glass, painful castle, waiting for the prince. And the prince came, as expected; now the only problem that stood was to get the princess out of the glass Hell and into the arms of the prince. 

"Good morning, Miss Kinomoto." Came the polite greeting from the raven-haired gentleman now entering the room. 

"No, Sakura, please call me Sakura." She replied, ducking her head to hide her embarrassment.

Eriol smiled at her and sat in the sofa opposite. "Sakura, then, I welcome you. I haven't been expecting to receive company so early in the morning, but I'm glad it's you and no one else." Though his voice was light, there was a sort of weariness there. 

"I apologise if I woke you up." 

"No, no. It was no trouble at all; I was awake before your arrival, actually." He amended dismissively. Then a grave look passed over his face and the grin disappeared. He leaned forward, racked his elegant digits through his hair and glanced anxiously outside, where the sky was rapidly brightening. "You said you know how to... help the situation?" 

Eriol winced mentally. He didn't intend to sound so hopeful and pleading, but the emotion escaped before he could quench it. Years of experience taught him to steel his features from outsiders, even from those that were close. It came as a sort of defence mechanism against the pains of the world. If he pretended that nothing was wrong, if he made other people believe so, then they would not know that he was hurting inside and, therefore, wouldn't be able to use that against him. But times and situations changed. Tomoyo became more important than keeping up façade. 

"I don't want for Tomoyo to suffer anymore, she doesn't deserve it – no one does," he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard by the other occupant of the room. 

"I know," Sakura replied just as quietly, "which is why we need to help her escape." 

"I've thought of that already," said Eriol, which was true enough. All night long, and even before that, before he knew the deep and dark secret, he wanted to set Tomoyo free. It was clear that she was trapped, perhaps by her own inability to flee, or from the clutch of that woman – it didn't really matter why – but she was slowly suffocating in that cage. It hurt him deeply to think that not only... that... was done to her, that it was allowed to happen in the first place, but also that he was powerless to change either the past or the immediate future. He steeled his voice and continued. "By what I know of the situation – from what both you and Tomoyo told me – I can tell that Daidouji Sonomi is very possessive of her daughter. It will not be easy to set Tomoyo free." 

Sakura nodded in affirmation. "I've dealt enough with the woman to know that she has a strong grip around Tomoyo. Sonomi hates to lose, and losing Tomoyo, even if to you, is the ultimate sin in her eyes. She'll stop at nothing to keep her daughter by her side." 

Eriol clenched his teeth, removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. "God. What kind of person is she? No human can be that cruel." 

"No," Sakura shook her head, sounding anxious, "you don't understand. Sonomi does not mean to be like that, really, she doesn't. She can't help it, she doesn't even know that what she's doing is wrong. She's sick, I think. Sonomi always wanted the perfect home, the perfect husband and child and life. But then she couldn't have children and that hurt her, so when Tomoyo came along her little fantasy came true. She doesn't want to let go of Tomoyo because she's afraid of loneliness, to wake up and see her dream end." 

"But that still doesn't give her the right to play with the life of an innocent girl like with some doll." 

"I know, but —" 

She was suddenly interrupted when the double doors were opened and in walked Syaoran, as messy-haired as usual, glaring first at his friend then glancing at Sakura. 

"I should have been awakened," he hissed at his friend and moved over to the girl. Placing a light kiss on the inside of her palm, he murmured, "Morning." 

"Good morning," Sakura replied, a bit breathlessly, if Eriol was any judge. His mood elevated instantly, a bright, if not slightly malicious, smile spread along his lips._ 'How come I haven't heard of this development before now?'_ he asked himself, though he didn't mind one bit. Syaoran did have the right to keep secrets from him, though that only made Eriol feel more curious about his friend. Syaoran was always the cold, distant one, even in the bygone days of their youth. It was a pleasant twist of fate that led him to Tomoyo, which subsequently led his friend to lovely Sakura. 

Eriol smiled further when the count and the girl continued to make googly eyes at each other, completely ignoring him._ 'It would be so much fun to tease him,'_ Eriol decided with glee, mentally skimming through his list of torture methods. 

But now was no time for pleasantries, now was business. He coughed, louder than would have been needed normally. "I don't mean to interrupt your sweet little reunion, but I believe there's some important matters that need to be discussed." 

The two lovebirds simultaneously turned their heads to face him. A dusty pink grazed Sakura's pale cheeks, while Syaoran was shooting Eriol scathing looks underneath his bangs. 

"You don't have to look so heartbroken, Syao-chan. I miss you, too, you know?" Eriol crooned, fluttering his eyes lashed coquettishly. 

"You miss me, really? Want to reacquaint with my fist? I bet it misses you, too." Syaoran growled. 

Eriol laughed merrily, his eyes dancing, while Sakura's brows shot up all the way to her hairline. "Gentlemen..." 

Smile falling off his face, Eriol straightened his back and faced her. "As you were saying. What can be done?" 

The girl clasped her hands on her lap and fidgeted some more. "We need to get her out of the country." 

Syaoran spared a worried glance at his friend. He knew that the topic of the conversation must have been the dark-haired girl Eriol was smitten with, if the concentration on his face gave any indication. The count didn't know the full story behind the girl's secret, he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but for his friend's sake, he would stand by the two of them. He realized a while ago that Eriol would stop at nothing to save his Blue Bird (as he heard him mention one time) and Syaoran just hoped that the price wouldn't be too high. 

"I know that," replied Eriol, racking his hand through his hair, "but that doesn't help one bit." 

"My brother's friend, Tsukishiro Yukito, agreed to let the two of you hide out in one of his mansions in the northern part of the city." Sakura said and almost instantly Eriol's ears perked up. 

"Go on." 

"Lord Yukito has been a my brother's friend a long time now, he was there to see both Tomoyo and I grow up. He cares about her just as much as I do, which is why he's offered to help (when I accidentally let it slip out). The only time Tomoyo is allowed to go outside her house is during the festivities and for church, if you exclude the times she..." the girl let her sentence trail, unable to voice the ugly truth. "So tonight, while Sonomi leaves her daughter unattended, as she always does when there are many important people, we'll sneak Tomoyo to my brother, where he'll take both you and her to Lord Yukito in the north." 

Eriol blinked a couple of times. "Then why can't we bring her here? That'll save us time and a debt to your brother's friend." 

"But you must understand that Sonomi will not give up that easily. Here, in you aunts villa, the two of you will be vulnerable. She knows who you are, and most likely where you currently live and everything about you, in fact. You might be a viscount back in England, but here is not the same; here your status abroad means nothing. Lord Yukito, on the other hand, is a very important nobleman in Venice. He's involved in politics and is a great patron to the church. She won't dare to stir trouble with him because there are too many people who are under his influence here; she'd be surrounded by enemies." 

Both gentleman paused and looked at her, amazed. The girl that grew up with little schooling and money and seemed outwardly innocent was very cunning indeed. "That's brilliant." Breathed out Syaoran, grasping her hand in his. 

"My sentiments exactly," said Eriol, waking up from his stupor. "So now all we can do is wait and plan and pray." 

* * * * * * * *

Her shoes cliched painfully against the expansive terra cotta tiles. The sound echoes through the empty hallways, amplifying it and making her shudder at its loudness. What if she was to be discovered? Sure she could tell them that she felt fatigued with the crowd in the main ballroom and wanted some quiet. But that wouldn't explain why she went in so deep into the mansion. Maybe she could pretend that she was lost? 

The otherwise silent corridor seemed almost ominous, dark, lingering shadows crept along the walls and the floor. Tomoyo had always been terrified of the dark, especially when she knew that she was alone and something unnatural could be hiding in those shadows, waiting until she was unguarded to pounce on her. And with darkness also came coldness. It seeped through her clothes, as it always did, no matter how many layers of cloth she had on. It was like a touch, barely distinguishable but definitely there. She shuddered to think what it could lead to and bit her lip. 

Tomoyo wrapped her arms around her middle and kept on walking. _'If I pretend I'm not here, then they can't get to me,'_ she told herself confidently. So she tried to imagine herself invisible and ignored the many closed doors along the hallways that resembled hungry maws. 

Ever since she was small, she always believed in monsters, under her bed and hiding behind her, always just beyond her reach. Sometimes the monsters would draw closer and she'd feel their cold breath on her neck and hear their whisper-like voices. She knew such a fear was completely irrational, given that she was old enough to know that it was illogical and improbable for monsters to exist. But when she was in the Dark Room all common sense abandoned her and she just wanted to get _out_. It was so easy to let her imagination wonder, and perhaps that was the entire purpose of the Dark Room – not penance for being a bad girl, but to make her afraid as punishment. She knew that it would drive her insane given just a bit more time. 

Tomoyo lifted her chin up and kept her gaze directly forward, her back ramrod straight, like she was taught. _'Eriol would be waiting for me in one of these rooms, I can't be afraid for his sake,'_ she thought and quickened her pace. 

There. The chamber with large double doors was the one behind which lay her future with Eriol, as Sakura had said. She could barely believe it; it was like talking small steps across an enormous gap. If she stepped over the gap, Tomoyo knew that her live would never be the same. She paused for a minute, her hand almost touching the handle. Did she really want to do this? This was the home she knew all her life, this was where she belonged. Did she dare to change it after such a long time? Did she want to leave her mother alone in this world?

Yes, she did, Tomoyo realized. And suddenly inside her swelled a deep passion, almost like hatred, for the woman. All those years of being suppressed, all that time of captivity, she didn't deserve it. She wanted to escape it all, to forget everything that ever happened to her. And Eriol would give her that freedom. 

With a relieved sigh, she turned the handle and rushed into the room. For a moment, she didn't see him. But then the darkness almost parted, and she could see again. The large window was open, white gauzy curtains flew and danced on the light that came from outside. And standing beside the window was Eriol, a soft smile on his face. 

"My love," he breathed out, but she heard it anyway. 

He opened his arms for her and she came running to him. He enveloped her in his arms, and she held on to his billowy shirt. Eriol stroked her hair and whispered her name, holding her so tight she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe. Tomoyo didn't even realize that she was crying until she felt the wetness on the mask press against her face. _'God, I can't believe this is actually happening. I think I might just die right now and here because I never want to leave.' _

She tore the mask off and pressed her face into his neck, breathing in his scent, wanting more of this moment, as if it'd disappear if she opened her eyes. 

"Don't cry," he said and cupped her face, softly kissing the tears away. "I don't want to ever see you cry." 

"Then I'll never cry again," she replied and smiled. She couldn't remember the last time she did that but it felt nice, a pleasant feeling fluttering in her stomach. 

"Come," said Eriol and grasped her hands in his, leading her to open window. It was the first floor and led to an alley. Beyond it, among the houses, she could see the river snaking by, sparkling in the moonlight. 

Eriol's hand over hers was much larger and warmer and she squeezed it tight, wanting to share that warmth. She felt light inside, or maybe that was _because _she found her light. 

"Alright," she said in return and he helped her climb out of the window and toward their future. 

(tsuzuku...)

* * * * * * * * 

*Sigh* I seriously screwed up, really I did. Now I have to make 15 chapters instead of 14 because of last chapter *sigh*

In other, not so good, news, I'm starting to hear voices. Oh, yeah. And they're creepy, too, like little whispers just outside my head but definitely there. Gawd, I'm so scared... I have to lay back on medication again...


	13. Crescendo

A/N: By no means am I upset that I have to make this story a bit longer. It's just that I already had everything planned out and set up, including chapter names and definitions and dialogues and such so rearranging everything at short notice was a bit... taxing. As it is, I had to change this chapter DRASTICALLY, but that's mainly because I'm cruel ^__^ And for those wondering what medications, any kind of headache and migraine killers; I chug them by the dozen at a time, but the pain just doesn't stop *sob*. 

* * * * * * * *

****

Chapter 13: Crescendo

_Crescendo: music,_ n._ gradual increase in loudness. _

Even before he saw two dark-haired and burly men at the corner of the street he was turning, Eriol knew he was being followed. It was a twinge at first, like a tickle along the nape that tells you that something is definitely wrong, just not specifying what exactly that something is. Like fear it crept up on him, churning at the pit of his stomach, sending the tiny goose pumps to spread along the back of his neck and forearms. Soon enough, his stomach was lurching, twisting and threatening to empty all its contents the way it came. 

The Lord was walking along the busy midday street, occasionally glancing at the various stalls and what they had on display when it struck him. He glanced back, looking for something, not exactly knowing what, but the sea of multi-coloured heads hid whatever it was he was looking for. From thence on, there was a butterfly-like fluttering in his bowels, and periodically he would pretend to pause in his stride and look at the nearest kiosk, just to check if he could catch a glimpse of that something. The sense of wrong was there, like this sensation of... doom, perhaps. 

Eriol didn't notice the two large and vicious-looking figures shadowing his steps until the streets cleared somewhat and the stalls eventually disappeared for pedestrians and apartment buildings. Every time he would glance back, there they'd be, lingering some distance away, trying to look inconspicuous for all they were worth. And almost instantly that fear spread; he knew that Sonomi sent them, there was no other explanation. He didn't know the full extent of the woman's power, but he'd heard enough to make his blood boil in rage and dread. And with the fear of the woman also came the fear for his beloved. 

There was no doubt that Daidouji Sonomi was looking for her daughter and getting to her meant going through him. His life was expendable after all, Eriol realized, and stepping over a corpse would be nothing. Eriol gulped and grinned at the implications, fastening his stride a notch. The smirk on his face was a dry one, lacking the haughty quality; it was like the one a dead man gives to his killer before the life goes out of him, a condemning one. No, he did not fear for himself. Tomoyo, she was more important, she had suffered enough in her life. Eriol loved the girl dearly, would gladly give anything for her – money, his life, the world, everything that was humanly possible. 

That was why he needed to divert the men, he determined with a small nod. Whatever it mean for him, he had to protect her, he promised and going back on promises was something he didn't look too fondly on. A memory of a time so long ago came flashing by. He promised to protect _her_, too, but she disappeared from his arms like sand. Eriol vowed not to make the same mistake twice. 

He pursed his lips into a thin line, thinking grimly that he wished he could have done more. There was a pang of pain when he thought that he'd leave Tomoyo alone, but then Sakura and Syaoran would also be there, so it would be all right. Wouldn't it? She would understand. 

Almost as if by choice, Eriol stilled his pace until it became a leisurely walk. He glanced at a child sitting propped up against the cool wall of a house. The child couldn't have been more than eight, ten at most, with a shock of curly, dark hair. From the distance, it could have been either a girl or a boy. For a moment, Eriol wondered what it would feel like to have a child, to be a father; he always appreciated the miracle of birth. What would it feel like to have something so wonderfully alive inside you? Or to know that you, _you_, gave_ life_ to another human being? 

With a small smile, Eriol ambled up to the child, crouching down to be at the same level. From up close, he could tell that the kid was definitely a boy, with large glaring blue eyes and an elfin nose. The Lord felt something painful twist inside. How would his child look like? Would his boy have the same dark hair as him, the same sapphire-like eyes? Would his little girl have her mother's fair skin and pouty lips? Would he ever feel small, chubby hands wrap around his neck and call him "Papa"? 

The boy glared at him in a manner so reminiscent of Syaoran it was almost humorous. 

"Are you going to buy anything, Sir?" The child asked in thick English. 

Eriol looked down at the boy's lap where on a small pan was a display of ten or so seashell necklaces. He picked one up, examining it on the slowly dying light. The multitude of shells varied in shapes, ranging from small cone-shaped ones (which were supposed to be worn on the front) to round ones. It wasn't anything extravagant, not even slightly comparing to the beautifully arranged necklaces he could buy at a jeweller's, but it held some sort of simplicity that held its own kind of beauty. 

"Did you make this?" He asked the boy. 

"No," the kid answered, eyes softening, "my sister did. My mother's always sick and we don't have enough money to buy medicine. So my sister made these to help out, you know, if we could get some money mother wouldn't be sick anymore." 

"Where's your sister now?"

"She is working; the church needed someone to clean up and she offered to work for them." 

Eriol smiled pensively, almost sadly at the boy. "How much do you ask for this?" 

"Five lira, Sir." The child answered and bit his lip nervously. It was clear that he didn't have experience in the work field, his eyes screamed innocence and an almost ageless sorrow. 

"Tell you what," began Eriol with what he hoped was a cheeky grin, "how about you give me the entire lot for a hundred?" 

The boy counted on his fingers, trying to make sure that the price was right. He frowned when he reached what seemed to him an almost impossible calculation. "But, Sir, that's more than what I'm selling these for." 

Eriol's smile widened. He ruffled the kid's hair playfully, not minding at that it was probably dirty from sitting all day in the dusty street. "It doesn't matter; I have more than enough money to spare." 

Teasingly he pocked the boy in the arm and took out his wallet, giving him a few neat bills, amounting to one hundred lira. "Here you go. Oh, and here's an extra twenty for you and your sister. There's an ice cream parlour a block east from here; they sell very good chocolate sundaes there." 

"B-but - Sir!" The boy tried to give the twenty back to the gentleman but Eriol refused, folding the boy's fingers over the bills. 

"You probably need this money more than I do. Go home to your mother now, she'll be worried." 

The boy shakily got up to his feet, his eyes seemingly huge with a mixture of awe and amazement. "Th-thank you, Sir," he stuttered before handing Eriol his bought goods and racing shyly down another street, where the throng of people increased. 

Eriol smiled at the rapidly disappearing form of the boy and pocketed the necklaces. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men lingering not twenty feet away. For a moment he was afraid that they'd go after the boy, too, thinking that he had some sort of information about Tomoyo. But that fear soon disappeared when he realized that the possibilities of finding a single child in a city of such proportions was very slim. 

Lithely, Eriol rose to his feet, dusting his slacks almost unconsciously. He tilted his chin up and continued on walking, feeling just a bit more light-hearted than he had five minutes prior. What he needed now was time, and hope. Time he needed to stall, time for the fake passport to be finished and for Tomoyo to be smuggled out of the country. Hope he needed as a back plan. If there wasn't enough time and prayer did not work, then he'd hope that Tomoyo would be safe and free. 

The sun continued to slowly set, a welcome coolness spreading across the quickly deserting streets. And Eriol continued on walking, to where he didn't know; it didn't really matter. Before long, the streets were nearly empty save for a few wondering and no doubt drunken souls. The shadows of the two men grew as they came ever closer. From the corner of his eye, Eriol caught a glint of silver in one of their hands. He smirked, but the gesture seemed dead, even to him. 

* * * * * * * * 

Dark eyes glared at him from across the room and he fought the urge to fidget, or run like he'd done on the previous occasion that he was met with the same cold gaze. 

"I heard that you are quite a respectable lord back in England," Kinomoto Touya drawled slowly, almost like you would before seeing your rival's dignity torn to shreds. 

"Yes," answered Syaoran equally slowly, as if trying to decide how fast he could run if he said the wrong thing; everything he said seemed to be "wrong" to Touya. "I'm a soon to be count of the Li family." 

"Aa. I've heard of the Li Clan all the way here, you must be quite the thought after man back in your homeland," the elder of the two men narrowed his eyes to slits. 

"I try to remain humble," replied Syaoran. 

"What makes you think that Sakura is good enough for you?" 

"Touya!" The said girl exclaimed sharply from where she was sitting beside Syaoran on the divan. 

"The question is: am _I_ good enough for Sakura?" The Lord replied scathingly. Forget flight, if he was provoked enough, a war of colossal proportions would break out between them. As it was, his fingers were twitching to do some permanent damage to Touya's face. 

"Are you?" Kinomoto raised an eyebrow and feigned to scrutinize the lord. "I see nothing special about you." 

"That is totally unnecessary, Touya!" Sakura huffed, glaring at her brother, a furious heat blossoming on her cheeks. "You can't tell me who I can and cannot date, Touya! I'm almost eighteen and can decide for myself, if you haven't noticed yet. And Syaoran _is_ special, I care about him and he cares about me, and _that_ makes him special." 

Touya regarded her strangely, maybe seeing his "little" sister for the first time in all of his years, then turned his calculating gaze to Syaoran. He really didn't have anything against the lord, would have even liked him if not for the fact that _Sakura_ liked him. Despite all she said, she was still his little sister and he'd be dammed thrice if anything happened to her. _'It is always the pretty boys that hit the hardest,' _Touya thought ruefully. 

Oh, yes, he had experience with his sort. All rich and pretty and shining in their glamorous light. These men of the high class, so wonderful and beautiful in their self-imposed brilliance, who looked down on people and laughed contemptuously at other's frugality. Touya always thought them to be incredibly vain, empty for all but words, but still that light drew people closer. Like moths to a flame. And that was how he got trapped, too. Now, well, he'd be lucky to survive with his heart intact. Sakura didn't deserve such a punishment, she was young and innocent, and he should be able to protect her with all he had. 

"How do I know that you won't just abuse my sister and then leave her? After all, she is not wealthy. What do you want from her?" Touya asked the young lord, narrowing his eyes. 

"I want nothing from Sakura!" Replied Syaoran hotly. "I only want for her to be happy."

"What if her happiness means being away from you?" 

Syaoran sighed resignedly. "Then I will —" 

"He_ is_ my happiness, Touya, why can't you understand that?" Sakura said, puffing out her cheeks. "I love him, and being with him makes me happy." 

Both males sucked in their breath and looked at the girl, both had different reasons for doing so. Furious heat spread along Syaoran's cheeks and ear lobes. He tried to stutter something out, but remained setting and gaping at her like a fish. Had she truly said that? Did she...? 

"Sa-Sakura, do you – do you mean that?" He managed to breathe out shakily. 

The girl blushed and ducked her head, looking at him underneath her bangs. Shyly, she nodded her head. "I think I've loved you since that first time I saw you standing at the masquerade. You were at the side and so different from everybody else." She giggled lightly. "You had this scowl on your face like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Since that time, I knew you were something else..." 

"Sakura..." 

Touya dug his nails into the velvet of his armchair, hard, when the two continued to look at each other sweetly and nothing else. He had not expected for things to go that far. Maybe he was hoping that she'd flutter her eyelashes coquettishly at him and sigh his name, but never actually come to love the count. Which meant that things were much worse than he thought. 

"I love you, too." 

Their lips sealed in a chaste kiss, both of their hearts swelling inside their rib cages. The grinding of Touya's jaws could be heard all the way in the parlour down the hall, but the two were oblivious in their bliss. And as Sakura wrapped her arms around her beloved's neck and the kiss was deepened, he growled, but again was ignored. Was the big brother wrong, then? The thought struck him. Would it be so bad to let his precious little sister have this bit of happiness?

* * * * * * * * 

It was dark in her room, only the wane light from the gas lamp on her nightstand and outside filtering in. But this time it didn't matter that much. The darkness wasn't as scary; rather pleasant, actually. She hadn't been allowed to have light in her room before. No, the darkness wasn't the scary thing at the moment: it was the night and future. 

She had spent nearly a week in hiding, along with Eriol and his friend. During those days, everything that she'd grown used to was slowly dissipating. The memories of that dark and silent place were not as potent; the fear was just a distant fragment, no longer hurting. She had learned to breathe freely again, to laugh like she never had been able to before. But still there lingered doubt. 

Would there be place for her in that not so distant future? Were her troubles worth it? Was freedom worth her troubles? Could she truly forget? Eriol said that he'd help her, cleanse her of that dark place, of the vile touches. And she believed him because he spoke truth. He _could_ help her, but at what cost? The price would be too high, Tomoyo feared. What if Eriol came to think of her as hideous and disgusting for all those things she did in the past? Would he forgive her? Would she forgive herself? 

And there was her mother to think of. Her mother needed her, surely. Yes, Tomoyo had come to hate what was done to her, but she couldn't bring herself to hate the woman behind it. Sonomi was her mother after all, and whether she meant to do all those things or not, she still remained as her mother. Sonomi had loved her all along, despite how she showed that love; she just wanted for her daughter to be happy. And at that moment, Tomoyo felt such a strong sense of pity for the woman it almost made her dizzy. Sonomi was so misguided, so confused, could Tomoyo really hold anything against her? 

Tomoyo glanced outside the window, where the sky was peppered with stars. Her stomach churned in anxiety. Eriol had gone out early in the morning saying to her that he'd return in a couple of hours, just in time for lunch. It was way past lunch at that point and still he did not return. Had something happened to him? It must have, otherwise he'd be home and safe with her. 

She smiled softly, touching her cheek where he had kissed her 'goodbye' before a whispered 'I love you'. Did she love him? She asked herself and quickly answered affirmative. So quickly she had come to depend on him; her heart beat a tad harder and faster at the thought of something happening to him. Eriol did so much for her, sacrificed everything just so she could be safe. And a little selfish part of her gloated at that fact. Hiiragizawa Eriol deeply cared for her, and only her. And she returned that affection just as much. And it wasn't gratitude, either, it was deep and passionate and warm, not obliging. 

Then her smile turned into a frown and her stomach jolted. He _should _have been home by now. What was keeping him? What could possibly happen? 

And instantly she knew her answer. Her stomach twisted violently, making her want to vomit. Would her mother be capable of doing something like that? She would, Tomoyo concluded. And along with this sinking feeling also came an overwhelming fright. _'Oh, God, no! No! No! No! Not him, please, not him!' _

Shakily, Tomoyo got to her feet, her throat thick and painful. She couldn't bear to lose him, not after what he came to mean to her. No, not now, not ever. But could she endanger Sakura and the rest because of _her_ own recklessness? 

Hands trembling, Tomoyo ripped out a blank page from a diary Eriol gave to her as a small gift and scribbled a note. The message finished, she folded it neatly and placed it on the centre of the bed where it would be easily noticeable. That done, she opened the door to her bedroom and crept quietly down the stairs, past the kitchens and the dining room and to the front door. 

__

'Sorry,' the message read, simply, _'I forgot to say "goodbye" to Mother.'_

(tsuzuku....?)

* * * * * * * * 

I've had to delete some scenes from this for space issues and such, but oh well, at least you can't kill me for poor Eriol-kun. (And if you were wondering, yes, those really were assassins ^__^) Oh, and I'm not certain when the next part will be up 'cause I'm moving and you know how it goes. 

Also, say Tomoyo had a child, would you prefer it to be a girl or boy? And a name, I need a name. I was thinking either Yoshiki (X Japan is a religion; Yoshiki is a God) or Saeki, or maybe Satoshi, or Daisuke or Kamui (Gakuto Kamui has a permanent shrine in my closet *purrs*). (Notice how those are all bishounen names ^__^)


	14. Requiem

A/N: Err... I know it's been a while since I've updated but I've been having problems with my internet and couldn't get on for almost two weeks. But the good thing is that I'm almost done with this fic *yayayayay* 

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Chapter 14: Requiem

_Requiem:_ n. _mass for the dead; music for this_

He couldn't remember feeling so much pain before. Every bone in his body seemed to creak with every breath. There were bruises in places he didn't think bruises could exist. Consciousness was a feeble and fleeting thing; he doubted that he could form coherent thought for much longer. But, oddly enough, it didn't matter to him. Sure, he felt like he'd crumble and break if he shifted his body even slightly, or that thoughts swam in a dull haze inside his head. Despite all that, he did not feel remorse for his shattered body or anger at his tormentors. Looking back on it, everything seemed in a sort of far-away perspective, like detachment or lack of care. 

Eriol smiled slightly, ignoring how his lips stung when the abused flesh stretched. Whatever happened to him, at least _she_ would be all right. 

He remembered a time when he was ignorant and carefree. Everything seemed like such a joke. Everything was two-dimensional, monochrome. There were the poor and there were the rich. The poor had nothing in life, no money, no worth; they were a part of a flat world, in which there was only net gain and loss. He was the rich, and, therefore, automatically better than the poor because he had everything they did not, and that was enough to qualify him as a "higher" being in the chain of life. 

There were times when Eriol, in his boyhood years, would rush into his mansion from a long day of tutoring and run around the rooms, scaring the housemaids. He'd inquire loudly and almost boastfully whether all the chores were done when he knew perfectly well that they were not and then, feigning to be disappointed with the servants' reply, he'd dock their pay as punishment, or fire them at will. And then, at night time, he would come thundering down the servants' stairs, which he knew were old and creaked when too much pressure was put on them and would surely wake up the sleeping labourers underneath and he'd demand ice cream especially imported from Brazil. Or he'd insist on a carriage ride to the park on the rainiest day of the season so he could sit and watch from shelter of the carriage as the rain droplets splattered noisily into puddles while his footman sat outside with the horses and the cold water. 

Remembering all that, all those times, Eriol realized how selfish he had been. Not once did he think of the servants that were abused, or the money he'd heedlessly wasted on toys he'd never played with but bought anyway just because they seemed pretty in the store window. Would it have hurt then to be a little considerate? Surely not. And now, Eriol felt this gnawing shame creep up on him. Back then he acted the part of a rich man and in the process lost some of his humanity. 

But then he met her, Kaho, and she taught him the worth of human life, rich or poor or dying or newborn. She showed him that life was not about personal pleasure, but moments wherein that pleasure was real, times that he could look back on with fondness and smile at the memory. In the end, it did not matter how much money a person had. What mattered was that they were human, like him; that they could feel and think like him, that their life was just as precious as his was. 

And when he learned this, despite its painful price, he also realized how unaware he was of the real world. Before, he lived in an imaginary world where everything was as it was supposed to be and nothing else, where he thought and believed himself to be happy because he wouldn't let himself feel anything else. Now he knew that happiness found home with people he cared about. Syaoran made him feel imperfect, and that made him feel more human because imperfection was so much better than perfection. Nakuru made him feel loved; she was always there for him, and she was family, after all. And Tomoyo made him feel needed, made him have a purpose in life. And for that feeling, for those people who made him feel that way, he would live, too. 

Through the darkness and the pain and the rain that slowly gathered overhead, he smiled, and it didn't hurt anymore. 

* * * * * * * * 

Touya sighed and racked a hand through his hair. The display of almost sickening affection earlier did nothing for his mental health, much worse was the fact that said display was between his precious sister and a boy who'd barely reached puberty. He glanced at Syaoran, who at that moment was trying this hardest to ignore the older man, and trying to spread his foul mood using just his mind. 

"I still don't like you," Touya said nonchalantly, almost offhandedly. 

"You don't have to," ground out Syaoran, his jaw muscles clenching. "Sakura likes me and that's enough." 

"You do realize that if you even dare – no, _think _– of hurting my sister, you'll come to regret it?" Touya asked, though it sounded suspiciously like a threat. "You'll suffer so much, you'll have to hire a special team of surgeons to figure out which end of you goes where." 

The Lord made a valiant attempt at keeping his glare neutral and trained on the "Older Brother," though that did not prevent him from placing his hands on his lap in a shield-like position (over his very vulnerable manhood). He knew quite well that Touya was not the sort of man you would tamper with and still remain... attached... In fact, he was quite certain that the older man would enjoy himself immensely, too. And as much as he'd loath to leave this feud frothing, he'd rather not face the wrath of Big Brother. He wanted to leave a legacy in the world, after all. 

"I'm well aware of that, Sir, and I can assure you that not a single hair on Sakura's head will be damaged, much as I'd hate to spoil your pleasure." 

"Well aren't you smart," bit Touya grumpily. 

Syaoran shrugged. "I try to be. You can't get anywhere in life if you don't have your wits to fall back on. Heh. And it feels so much more rewarding, when you don't have to exert yourself manually." 

The vein on Touya's forehead was threatening to pop. "Are you implying that working with your hands is degrading, Sir?" He spat out. 

"Why no, Sir," the other replied in a sugary voice. "Working with your hands is perfectly normal. After all, you have to use the equipments that are granted to you." [1]

Touya seethed. "Should I be offended, Sir?" 

"Not at all, Sir," Syaoran answered just as sweetly. ''I'm just saying that you have to make use of what you have, rather than of what you don't have, _Sir._" 

The older man cursed under his breath and tried to find a logical explanation to his sister as to _why_ he murdered her beloved. He doubted that they were talking about his occupation anymore, and though he was not ashamed, he was still discomfited how the references rolled so easily off of the viscount's tongue. 

"You shouldn't be talking about not being able to use the equipment you were given.... or not...Sir," Touya fired back acidly. 

Syaoran glared and prepared his mental arsenal for a war. True, he had started it, but he'd be dammed if he let the other man have the last word. 

While the two young men were sparring verbally, (and still managing to sound gentlemanly), Sakura was upstairs searching for her friend. Excitement and happiness bubbled in her chest, making her feel almost inhumanly giddy. She thought she might as well explode on the spot into a puddle of joyful goo. She still couldn't believe something like this happened to _her_. She wanted to jump up and down from happiness.

And, being the great friend that she was, she wanted to spread her joyful mood to Tomoyo, who she'd noticed was feeling more subdued than she should have. Everything was going on a straight route to a fairy tale ending, Sakura didn't even know whether everything was a dream or not. The only problem now, it seemed, was that Tomoyo was nowhere to be found and her prince charming still hadn't returned from his trip into town. 

Sudden foreboding began to gnaw on her happiness. But this was not a fairy tale, everything was not perfect; the princess was scarred, the prince too wonderful to be true, and the evil sorceress was actually the princess' mother. Rules changed in the real world. Happy endings were rare, quite improbable, she had to admit. So maybe this story would not end with a happy ending? Maybe she was a fool after all, for believing in fairy tales. 

Now worry was twisting her insides. Something was definitely wrong, Sakura could feel it in the marrow of her bones. Outside, thunder cracked noisy and a chill crept up her spine. Then she heard the telltale pitter-patter of rain against glass and roofing. Her insides shrivelled even more. With feet as heavy as lead she raced back to Tomoyo's room, which she discovered empty on initial check-up. The window in her friend's room was open, allowing the evening and the rain into the room. 

Sakura felt her stomach lurch and her throat close up. Tomoyo would not dare... she would _not_, would she? Quickly, she walked up to the window, shielding her face from the stinging water, and looked down. The ground was barely visible, the falling rain making it look like a vortex. The girl breathed out in relief; it was too far to jump down, Tomoyo would not risk it, but that still left her whereabouts unknown. Nervously chewing on her lip, Sakura studied the room. There was nothing human in the closet, or under the bed or in the small alcove under the writing table. 

With a sigh, Sakura plopped onto the bed. So Tomoyo was not in her room, as she was supposed to be, that didn't mean anything. She could be somewhere else in the large house – in the billiard room, or in the kitchens, somewhere where she was safe. Still the worry did not cease. Sakura didn't know what she'd do if her friend disappear, and she had an idea to where she'd go. Eriol wouldn't be able to forgive her; she wouldn't forgive herself...

She got off the bed and moved off to exit the room to continue with her search. While giving the room one last glance she caught sight of an angular object, what appeared to her as a piece of paper. It blended well with the soft cream-coloured bed sheets and was obscured from view when she threw the excess blankets on the bed when looking under it so she didn't see it originally. Warily, she picked it up, though she didn't truly need to read it to know. 

It took her scant few seconds to comprehend the meaning of the message and almost immediately afterward she came running out of the room and down the stairs.

"She's gone!" Sakura exclaimed once reaching the den, where her brother and Syaoran were no doubt arguing. 

Both young men turned to stare at her, mouths gaping, as if in the middle of saying something. There was an almost perpetuated silence in the room, penetrated only by the heavy rain and the closing and opening of the young men's' jaws trying to work something out. Sakura's eyes began to slowly fill with tears; she bit her lip trying to stifle a little sob from escaping. 

Once regaining his wits Syaoran was instantly at her feet, questioning her in worry. "Did something happen? Why are you crying? Tell me what's wrong."

Touya was already up and moving in to comfort his sister. "Sakura, what's wrong?" 

The girl shook her head, whether trying to wake up or ward off their concern she didn't know. Desperately she clung to Syaoran's shirtsleeves. "She's gone," Sakura choked out, "I went to check up on her and she's gone." 

"Calm down Sakura," began Syaoran, now fully concerned for the distraught girl, "breathe. Who's gone? What happened?" 

"T-Tomoyo! She's gone off to see her mother! There was a note and... God, what do we do now? Why do things like this always happen?" She asked, not really seeking an answer because she already knew it. She buried her head in Syaoran's shirt. 

The viscount looked over Sakura's head at her brother. Whatever petty dispute was between them didn't matter anymore, they couldn't even remember what it was. Both were concerned about Tomoyo's safety, thus going to such great lengths to ensure her happiness. The older man's brows were creased together, his lips pursed, he nodded to Syaoran in a silent agreement.

"I'll go inform the police, you two prepare to go search for her," Touya announced, already striding toward the door.

"Come on," Syaoran said and held out his hand to Sakura. With hands shaking, she took it, grasped it hard between her palms. He was her pillar of strength at this moment, and she was grateful he offered it. 

"Let's find her." 

* * * * * * * * 

Rain dripped off her hair, her soaking dress made a wet trail with each step she took. Tomoyo shook her head, trying to distil some of the cold away. A shiver passed through her body but she ignored it. The rain outside was foreboding, dramatic in its irony. The sounds of the heavy raindrops landing on the earth and against the sides of the house seemed eerily out of place in the oppressive silence of the manor. Had it always been so quiet? How come she never noticed it before? Why did it scare her so much now? 

What possessed her to do something so stupid and childish she didn't know but it was far past turning point now. Instinctually she knew she was a fool for coming back here, especially after all that she'd experienced within these walls. She remembered all the years being locked up in her room, looking out through her window for the rare glance of the world outside, or sunshine and laughter that she wasn't allowed to have. She remember feel resentful of the little kids she saw playing outside, so oblivious to pain or sadness. But she also needed closure, to reassure herself that what happened was in the past and would not be able to haunt her any more. 

Quietly she crept further into the mansion. It seemed so old to her now, even though it wasn't that long ago that she'd been there. She noted that dust was gathering in places; her footprints were clearly visible on the floor, the faint pale light from outside streaming through a window showed little dust particles dancing. The house seemed dead, almost. What had happened to the servants? The housekeeper usually stayed for the night and the gardener worked thrice a week, yet when looking at it, the plantains outside were overgrown and the interior of the house seemed untouched by human hand. Maybe things were always like this just that she never noticed them because she'd grown so used to seeing them? 

Shrugging off as shiver, Tomoyo headed for the winding staircase leading upstairs; she used to be always fascinated by its strange shape and the intricately carved banister. She knew, as if something divine had steered her, that Sonomi would be waiting for her there. Her feet on the dilapidated wood made an odd creaking sound. She remembered when she was young she'd always sneak into the kitchens on her tiptoes because the stairs were very sensitive in their old age and she didn't want to wake anybody up. Now she was rather pleased with the creaking of the stairs, it made her believe that this was like all those times in the past, so she wouldn't be as afraid. 

Right off the staircase was her old room. She went in and so many memories assaulted her. Her bed with it's crocheted white bedding. She'd used to wrap herself into those same sheets and parade in the room in front of Sakura, pretending to be a bride. Tomoyo let her fingers brush against the worn material, also gathering dust. There was a chest by the side of the bed made of rich mahogany; she used to store all her dolls in there. 

Almost without thinking, she walked up to the chest and crouched before it, liked she'd done so many times in the past. Gingerly, she brushed away the layer of dust that settled on the chest and then pushed the heavy lid up. Her dolls lay inside, like they always did, their large, blank eyes staring accusingly back at her. She picked one doll up. Annabelle. Tomoyo still remembered when she got it. She remembered stroking the doll's long dark hair and rearranging the ruffles in her pale blue dress. In a way, Annabelle reminded her of herself. There was an almost imperceptible smile on the toy's lips, though it didn't quite reach her painted eyes. Tomoyo got this nagging feeling that this look of mourning on the doll's face was all her fault. Carefully, she let her finger whisper over Annabelle's pink cheeks and eyes. 

After a while, Tomoyo laid the doll back to into the chest, with the rest of the dolls, and shut the lid. She moved off to the rocking chair by the window. There was a crochet kerchief resting on the seat, just as she left it, the sewing needles and thread over by the foot of the stairs. All those times she used to sit here, looking outside and let the rocking gently lull her to sleep, they seemed so long ago. Tomoyo wondered if that really happened, whether everything really happened. 

"Tomoyo? Is that you?" She heard a soft call. It came to her like a breeze, sending another wave of chills through her body. 

Slowly, warily, she turned to the doorway where Sonomi stood. Her throat suddenly went dry. She was so afraid; she didn't know what to do or what she wanted to do in the first place. "...Mo– mother..." she managed to breathe out. 

"Oh my dear child! I knew you'd come back to me! Oh my darling, little girl!" Sonomi rushed forward but stopped when Tomoyo moved behind the rocking chair as means of protection. 

"No... Mother, no... I'm here to say goodbye," replied Tomoyo shakily. 

"Wha–Why? No! You can't!" Sonomi cried out. 

It was strange for the girl to see her mother like this. She's always pictured her mother as strong and proud and so high above the world that she was, indeed, otherworldly. Now this woman seemed small and insignificant and almost fragile, like she had shrivelled up and become but a shadow of the strong woman she used to be. Or maybe that's how Sonomi always was but gave the illusion of superiority. She noticed the puffiness and tiny lines crease the corners of the woman's eyes, like bird's feet, she saw the silver grey stroking her auburn hair, saw the sagging skin along her jaw and neck and it struck her odd that she never realized that her mother aged at all. Tomoyo felt only pity for her now; she wasn't afraid. 

"I am, Mother, I am," the girl said slowly, sadly almost. With a sigh, she moved around the rocking chair and toward the door, where her mother was still poised. "Eriol loves me, and I think... I think I love him, too. He makes me happy, Mother. I want to be with him." 

"But don't I make you happy, too? Can't you stay with me and be happy?" Asked Sonomi despairingly. 

Tomoyo shook her head. "No, I don't think I can stay with you. This place–" she looked at the walls of her room once again, remembering "– is too old, I think. It holds too many unpleasant memories for me. If nothing else, they'd kill me." 

Tomoyo moved past her mother, her shoulders straight until her back ached. Sonomi let her walk out of the room, but then at the last moment grabbed her daughter's wrist. Her clutch on the pale appendage felt bony and cold. 

"I'm sorry," she choked softly and Tomoyo was startled to realize that there were tears in the woman's voice. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I know... my precious baby, I know... Your father, he – he never understood what I needed, he never cared. He just wanted to please me and make a profit, he didn't know anything, he didn't. Oh, my darling little girl..." 

Sonomi fell to her knees still clutching her child's wrist in her hands. Her body shook with tears but she continued babbling as if she didn't notice. 

"I thought it would all be better, I knew it would and it was. Oh how you've grown up Tomo, you're all so big now." Sonomi looked up at her but her eyes were sightless. "Always it had been you. You were always there, my precious baby. Remember how we'd go to the park and you'd call me mommy? Remember the little puppy I gave you for your fifth birthday? Remember the pink dress I made you, the one with all the frills?" 

Tomoyo shook her head slowly; her eyes were also filling with tears at the sight of the wretched woman. She never remembered going to the park, or the puppy or the pink dress with too much lace. Everything, all those things Sonomi mentioned, they weren't real, they were lies she created to play with, but the lies were so realistic she confused them with reality and thought them to be true. _'So what am I, then?' _Tomoyo wondered._ 'If everything was her lie and I was living it out for her, wasn't I _her_ doll like Annabelle was mine?'_

"You're sick, Mother," the girl's throat hurt when she said those words. "You need to see a doctor." 

"No!" Sonomi exclaimed sharply and bowed low again. "I'm not sick! Your father was sick! He was very sick; he was a wicked, wicked man! He didn't want you, said it was a mistake, but I said otherwise and I had my lovely little baby. All that money, he wasted all that money, he didn't even know that it was wrong. Oh, my darling, I'm so glad you're here with me, you love me, don't you? He didn't love me, no one but you does." 

Tomoyo bit her lip, hard. "You used me." 

"I had to!" Her mother said, as it was the most natural thing on earth. "You are such a pretty child, all the boys in the neighbourhood fell in love with you. I just wanted to be a great mother and find you a good husband so you'd live happily. But then... your father, that bad man, all the money... Your pretty dresses, I couldn't buy you pretty dresses any more and the people on the streets looked at you funnily. Why? Why did they look at you? I know, I know. They wanted to take you away from me, didn't they? Those leeches, only wanted you because you were so pretty. Nasty old men, nasty, nasty." 

Outside, thunder crashed loudly. Tomoyo's heart jumped in her throat and seemed to die for just a moment before continuing its erratic pace. Uncertainly, she pulled at her hand, still in the woman's tight grasp. 

"Mother – I have to go, it's late." 

"No! Please don't go! I need you, my lovely little girl, don't go!" Sonomi cried desperately. 

"I can't stay, I have to go, please let me go." Tomoyo tugged harder on her trapped wrist but her mother held on. 

"I'm sorry!" Her mother whimpered; her sobs were heart shattering. "Whatever it is I've done, I'm sorry, don't leave. Please don't, I love you." In desperation, the woman kissed her child's hands, silently pleading with her. "Please, forgive me, forgive me..." 

Tomoyo wept softly, removing her hand from the woman's slowly loosening grip. "You ruined me, Mother, you crippled me. What am I now? Who would ever want me after what you've done? I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you." She placed her hand over her mother's bent head, smoothing the hair. "Goodbye." She whispered softly and headed for the stairs. 

She almost reached the banister when she heard the swoosh of skirts behind her, signifying that her mother rose to her feet. Tomoyo dried her eyes with the heels of her hands and prepared herself for Sonomi's last despondent attempts at persuading her to stay. 

"If I can't have you," her mother began, the steel she was familiar with returning to her voice, "then no one else can have you either."

Startled, Tomoyo swirled to face the woman. From someplace among her skirts Sonomi withdrew a small pistol. Breath stilled in her throat, as everything else became a slow moving tableau. Each beat of her heart felt oppressing, the rain and thunder outside was too loud, as was the silence. She couldn't think, couldn't blink or move.... Why...?

Someone screamed her name but she forgot how to think and so couldn't piece the voice with a face. 

A crashing sound and a gunshot rung out throughout the house. A piercing scream followed. Then everything was deadly quiet.... And there was so much blood....

*~*Finis*~*

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[1]Dirty joke concerning Touya's sexuality, I know XD, this chapter needed comic relief. 

Now for the names: who ever said that I needed those names for *this* story *grins*? So, here's what I decided on:

Tomoyo's daughter: Hikari 

Eriol's daughter: Hotaru (I very much like that name, too ^^)

Tomoyo's son: Saeki 

(Dun ask how that works -__-u) 

PS: Zidane-chan, *NO* _I_ am sorry for the convention – I acted bossy and like a bitch, but you know how much I like boys -___-;; I truly couldn't stop, you didn't see the worst of it, and so be *very* glad... Ya takaya bal'shaya durach'ka....


	15. Étude

A/N: *Shocked* You didn't actually think I'd leave it there, did you?! I'm just getting to Kaho.... But this is seriously the last instalment. Finally it's over!! *rejoices* Oh, and big thanks to X Japan, who've become my inspiration as of late. 

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Epilogue: Étude 

_Étude:_ n. _short musical composition for a solo instrument, esp. intended as a technical exercise. _

_Syaoran's POV, five months later. _

I find it very strange how life can change so very drastically because of just one, perfectly ordinary person. One piece decides to attach itself to the puzzle that was before then complete and suddenly everything starts to form cracks and splinters and you find yourself looking out and seeing that puzzle crumble before your very eyes. It happens at very unexpected and unwanted times, too, but maybe that's just because you've never seen it coming and it takes you by surprise. After all, it wouldn't be as dramatic if you saw it looming on the horizon; you wouldn't be left quacking in your shoes from the force of it all. 

I sigh and flick a snowflake from where it landed on my eyelashes. London is unusually cold for the season. The people walking around me huddle tightly into their winter coats and parkas, as I am, trying to keep their scarves in place so their noses would not freeze from the cold. All of them are hurrying somewhere, to someone one and at the same time trying to stay in the festive mood. I just stroll, quietly watching them pass me by while trying to fend off the frigid air from leaking underneath my clothes. 

It's nice to have somebody to come home to, especially since Christmas and New Year's so close on the doorstep. Everybody's trying to keep a jolly mood, though for some reason that doesn't get transferred to me; the shame, Sakura wants me to enjoy this holiday. But I suppose it makes sense to forget all your worries and just be happy with the ones you cherish, even if just this once. You've suffered enough for one year, seen too much, why not forget? Sure, the memories would be ever lasting, but the reprieve would be nice, too. 

It also strikes me as funny when I look at these people, hurriedly bustling by, and they would seem so animate. That woman, heavily loaded with hand-made bags and boxes, looking through the store window; that boy over there pointing to another store where a set of deluxe train tracks complete with a miniature stream engine and five brightly-painted carts, sits on display; the old man at the curb of another shop, sitting in his dingy coat and holding a metallic cup while some generous passer-by's drop him a coin or two... To me they seem as if they're all actors on this elaborately detailed stage, carelessly playing out their roles without even knowing they're doing it. Do they know anything beyond their designated roles, I wonder? Does that child know how much the old man's suffering? Does the old man realize what sorts of things go on in the boy's head? I'd doubt he'd care. 

It's strange how you never pay much attention to other's problems until you have a taste of your own. I wouldn't be observing people like I am right now if *that* didn't happen, I might not have cared either way. But now that that experience is behind me, now that I can look back on it, as much as I loath to, I think I've grown to appreciate the troubles every person in the world has to face. I can't call that bravery, more like desperation because we have no choices when trouble comes — that's why they always strikes the hardest, you never expect them. 

The sky grows a bit darker, the clouds churning together. I spare them a glare and quicken my pace. The cold and the snow are bad enough, it would be even worse if it rained at the same time as well. I tug the lapels of my winter coat tighter around my throat and tread home. 

* * * * * * * * 

I can't say that I liked Kaho Mitsuki, can't say that I hated her either, she was just another person in my life that I'd rather not have met. But whether I liked her or not, her memory remains, not for what she was but for what she helped to do. 

She was Eriol's private tutor back when we were in our early teens. I didn't see her much then, only occasional glimpses when she'd call Eriol in from a break, and I didn't care either. She was just some woman that had to walk in and disrupt a perfectly good life, she just had to come and take away my best friend. But Eriol, he worshipped her, I think, more so when she died. He'd used to talk forever about how beautiful she was or how wonderful and it would sicken me, the change that she brought in him. What was so special about her anyway? 

Because of her we didn't spend enough time together. We both had prepping school and then social gatherings afterwards, and when she came there wasn't even time on the weekends. He'd go to see her nearly everyday and bring her expensive presents. And I know I must sound selfish but that wasn't fair. Eriol was my best friend, not hers, so why did she have more of him? 

The day she died, I think my friend died, too. There was an accident with a stray carriage or rogue horses and she was in the middle of it. Needless to say, she didn't make it by the time doctors arrived. She was gone! I couldn't be happier. Only problem was that Eriol was with her when she died. He saw her with his eyes as she breathed her last and that frightened him, I think. He used to talk about how wonderful she was, how much she taught him about life, but only with her death did he really come to appreciate it. 

I still can't understand what it is that he learned. But he changed so much after that, blossomed, you could say. For that, I'm grateful to her. 

* * * * * * * * 

It takes a moment before the large door before opens with a tiny 'squeak' and I am bustled into the warm interior of the manor. The portly maid smiles at me and motions to take off my coat and hat. I do so, ruffling my hair into their proper disarray; I always did hate wearing hats because they made my hair flat. Not a minute later Sakura all but runs into the room. Laughingly, she throws her arms around me, kissing my numb from cold cheek. 

"My, my, Syaoran, did you really turn into an icicle out there?" She asks teasingly and I smile for the first time that day. Her innocence never ceases to amaze me. Gods, I love her. 

"Nearly," I reply. "You wouldn't mind too much warming me up, would you?" I nuzzled the side of her neck where I know she's a bit ticklish. 

"No," she replied with a giggle, " but certainly not at the front door where people can get an eyeful and not before dinner." 

"Yes, yes," I say with a kiss and move deeper into the mansion; Sakura returns to helping the maids prepare dinner. 

I head straight for the stairs and to the second door on the right. I know Tomoyo would be behind that door, as she recently caught the flu and wouldn't be able to move around much. I hesitate a moment before pushing my way through, smiling in what I think is a genial manner at her. She's half-sitting on the bed, a quilt and embroidery tools spread on her lap. 

"Hello," I greet her with a soft kiss on the cheek. 

"It's cold out?" She asks. 

"Aa." 

"Then it was very cruel of Sakura to let you go out in those conditions," she said with a smile. 

I nod, agreeing fully. "I had to take care of some matters, though." Tomoyo doesn't question farther and clasps her hands together. "How are you holding up?" 

She manages to smile, though I wonder if it's genuine and murmurs a soft "better". I don't know whether to believe her or not. What happened that day nearly six months ago shook her pretty badly. I've noticed the change, though she fights valiantly not to show it. Sakura can see it, too, and it kills her that she can't do anything about it. 

The memory of that day – night, whatever – still haunts me, when I let it. I'll never forget the sickening feeling in my stomach and the suddenly all too loud silence in that dreary place. I'll never forget wanting to sink into the floorboards when the minutes kept on ticking by and there was still no sound, no life. It scared me more than I'd care to admit. I remember running up the stairs, Sakura on my toe and sobbing. I remember the landing and seeing Tomoyo on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open as if screaming silently. I remember seeing the blood on her dress — there was so much of it, everywhere — and then Sakura was throwing up behind me. And then she looked at me and I swear I could see Death in all her glory in Tomoyo's eyes. I was so very scared; I've never seen anything like it before. And then I saw the body sprawled upon her lap... Eriol...

After that things passed way too quickly. There was the police entering the place, shouting orders and then Touya and Lord Yukito at Sakura and Tomoyo's side. There were doctors, too, and Tomoyo was screaming something but I couldn't comprehend what and the medics were trying to remove... his... body from her grasp...

There were investigations after that of course. Apparently the late Lord Daidouji had had a bit of a gambling problem when he was still living. He died, though the authorities couldn't determine how. And Sonomi Daidouji had had a medical history as well; some mental condition the doctors wouldn't tell us. Maybe that's why things turned out the way they did? Maybe she was driven over the edge because she couldn't control her sickness anymore? I just wonder whether I can forgive her even though I know she's not entirely at fault. 

We all moved back to London soon after that; I doubt either of the girls could handle staying there much longer. I could see that Sonomi's death was devastating to Tomoyo. She still did not tell us how that came to be but it was pretty obvious anyway. Sonomi's body lay broken on the first floor, directly below the broken stair railing; the decayed wood gave way under her weight. But that did not explain why Eriol was shot and Tomoyo gave forth nothing. 

It's been five months since then. It still amazes me how Tomoyo can let go of things so easily. After all that's been done to her, she still loves her mother, still mourns for her. I wouldn't be able to do that if I were in her situation. 

I squeeze her hand, letting her know that I'm still here. "Where's Eriol?" I ask gently. 

Her eyes glaze and I can tell that she's fighting not to show her smile. "You know perfectly well were he is." 

I sigh and get up, giving one final tug on her hand. "Aa, you're right, I do. I'll see you later at dinner, won't I?" 

Tomoyo nods at me and gestures for me to get going. "You wouldn't want to keep him waiting." 

"Yes, yes, he does have a nasty tendency of being sadistically evil." 

We both laugh and then I leave her with her embroidery, heading for the library in the wing of the mansion. The library has always been Eriol's favourite place to be, I guess the silence helps him to distil some of the painful things. As I enter the library, a soft glow spills over the carpet to land on my feet. There's a large, rich velvet armchair standing before the fireplace; his favourite place to sit. There were times when he was younger that he would spend entire days curled up on that chair, engrossed in Baron or Shelley. 

I walk around to face him, ready to scold him but I wasn't prepared to see him asleep with Kero, Sakura's pet cat, curled up on his lap. I have to smile; the image is just too adorable. His spectacles are askew on the bridge of his nose and he's holding a book with one hand, a finger wedged between pages as a bookmark. Carefully I take off his glasses and place them on the little reading table beside the chair. I smirk one last time, storing this moment at the back of my head for future blackmail, and turn to leave. Before I can do that, however, he stirs. 

"Syao-chan?" He asks sleepily. His eyes are still glazed with whatever dream he'd been having before. 

"You wife if getting restless," I reply, simply. 

He looks down at his hand, where a golden band graces one finger. He holds up his hand so the soft glow from the fire catches the gold and makes it shine. 

"Is it really real?" Eriol asks quietly. I have to smile at this; I had to wonder this same question many times myself in the past five months, and I doubt that I'm certain of the answer. 

I smirk again and head out the door. "Quite," I throw to him behind me. 

* * * * * * * * 

It is all a game, maybe. Everything is just one big act that everybody unintentionally participates in. Heh. Life has this funny way of being ironic without meaning to. Change one piece of the puzzle, add another and suddenly everything else changes as well. 

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~Ende Epilogue

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Hmm.... Ending Notes: now that it's over and I look back on it, the story turned out quite a bit like I had originally planned (which was months before I actually started writing it). I'm dissatisfied with some parts, most; I dun think I've focussed enough on the ideal of Càrnival, I should have, but I didn't want to bore you with all the psychological stuff. And I also know that some parts weren't at all realistic, like how the women were treated during the era, but it's an AU after all, so I can twist with that a bit. But overall it wasn't that bad, and for that I'm glad. Except for this chapter, but it was rather difficult for me to get into Syaoran's head, which is why it took me so long to come up with this *coffcrapcoff*

Thakies go out to everyone who've sent in comments, especially to Sakura Scout, SVZ, AznSage (you wouldn't mind if I sent you a fan art, would you?) and KyteAura (I luv u ppls!) (There are too many names to mention and I dun wanna seem choosy, though these gals have been with this story from the very beginning). 

Well, Adios for now, and hope to hear from you on my next ficcie. (For any of you that are wondering when I'm going to post it: I'll do that as soon as I finish planning at least fifteen chapters and write one more one-shot fic for Eriol. Oi, I have to write less seriously next time...) 


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